


The Company You Keep

by split_n_splice



Series: TCYK [3]
Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 180,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/split_n_splice/pseuds/split_n_splice
Summary: Exploring the younger years with Drakken and Shego, fromslice-of-lifeto thelife-threatening, set before the meddling of any nosy redhead teen hero. Beginning with an introduction to villainy after forsaking heroism, and rolling with the punches with a splash of family ordeals, substance abuse, enemies, rivals, thrills, woes, baking, killer plants, little brats, jealousy, grudges, and trust.





	1. Runaway or Abduction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for a compilation of events following The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie.  
More info in the end notes.
> 
> _Warnings?_ violence, language, and substance abuse in the forecast, scattered showers of fluff and a chance of lewd, guaranteed Drakgo!

The turn of events didn’t feel real.

This time last Friday, _Shilo_ had been mopping up the art project her three younger brothers had made of breakfast. Her herculean older brother had made up an excuse that he was running late, which she didn’t call him out on because he would have caused more messes than cleaned if he were to crowd her in the kitchen.

She could be doing it all again, or she could be loitering around her hometown, or she could be paying the private gym a visit at the island base of a superhero team she’d forsaken.

Had she stayed, she might not be feeling so wretched from medication withdrawals or side effects. In the same vein, abdominal pain could have been explained away as cramps related to the experimental drugs.

Numb and mute from the shellshock of it all, she stared out the tinted window at the blur in her daze and let a hand flutter lightly over her tender stomach, but she withdrew it quickly and grimaced in discomfort. She’d hurt herself with her own freakish superpower earlier, worse than any punch to the gut she’d ever received.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant for the skull that had been caught in the middle of it.

The fresh image of her huge brother’s body crumpling at her feet flashed behind her eyelids every time she shut them or so much as blinked. Whispers behind her back were a distraction, but they were unappreciated, and she shoved the grisly thought from the forefront of her mind long enough to shoot a glare back at the gossipers.

_“…looking greener,”_ a henchman was muttering to Dr. Drakken, to which Dr. Drakken concurred in a grumble she didn’t quite catch. The runty subordinate clad in a red jumpsuit took notice of her frown, and sat back in sheepish silence under her glare.

The unkempt blue man behind the wheel let his scowl drift across to her then, and Shego didn’t like his eyes roaming her over so thoroughly. _“Please _don’t tell me you’re carsick,” he called over curtly.

They’d only left Go City behind half an hour ago, and it was far too soon for chitchat or remarks. She grunted in lieu of an answer before slumping against the window. She couldn’t honestly say she _wasn’t_ feeling sick.

Her palms burned, but not in the way that was second nature to her. Just in case, she tucked her hands safely into her armpits. Having a list of warning signs memorized, she racked her brains for any serious withdrawal symptoms, but came up with nothing too _explosive._ She was just being paranoid, she decided. Paranoia was a withdrawal symptom too after all, wasn’t it?

The fear of combustion lingered as she tugged her sweater to let some air reach her clammy skin, the unbuttoned collar of her uniform beneath doing little to aid in cooling her down. A cracked window helped, but not much.

Straining to ignore the trapped heat rising beneath the layers she wore in addition to the worries plaguing her mind, she focused intently on watching the passing scenery. Flocks of birds, the blur of trees, fields, and small towns slid by uneventfully.

Inevitably, the growling stomachs and dreary huffs of the three moody henchmen behind her became hard to ignore. Her own stomach was starting to feel particularly hollow by now, but she prepared herself to ignore it too. Despite her stomach’s disagreement, her appetite was shot.

Ultimately it would be Dr. Drakken who would dictate when breakfast would be served, and no whimpered complaints from his crew would make it come any sooner. A stop at a Cow-n-Chow drive-thru was in order mere minutes before the noon menu change.

The blue boss took it upon himself to order for his cronies without consulting them. Shego remained slumped against the window, content with keeping her silence. She could give him a hard time later if she changed her mind, she decided. If he needed her talents that badly, he’d just have to comply.

Her mouth was watering anyway, but not in anticipation of food. She had to swallow back bile. The driver said something, some sort of inquiry, but it went in one ear and out the other as she fixated on little birds in the hedge, too busy steeling herself against the wooziness that came with the smell of sausage and egg wafting into the rig.

There was the snapping of fingers and she cast a peek at Dr. Drakken from the corner of her eye before realizing she was being addressed. “For future reference, I expect to be _listened to_ when I speak,” he groused.

“Sorry, did you say something?” she deadpanned, blinking lazily over at him as she turned.

He grunted curtly and gestured to the menu board outside. “Choose something already, or I’ll pick something for—”

“I’m not hungry.”

The man scoffed in exasperation and shook his head. “How am I not surprised?” he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Despite her refusal, a bag of hot food was plopped in her lap a minute later. It wasn’t until the henchmen had already wolfed down their meals that she finally took a nibble of a hash brown she’d been allotted. It took the edge off the hunger pangs, but certainly not the nausea. She didn’t touch the muffin sandwich she’d been given. Keeping down the hash brown alone was tough enough, but it was decided she’d better eat while she had the chance.

She didn’t know how long they would be on the road. She never asked.

Come evening, the interstate had taken them across multiple state lines and she’d grown painfully bored of staring out the window at the ever-changing views and of listening to the latest twisted rendition of _99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall._ Before another droning round of chants could recommence in the back, Shego commandeered the radio, finally shooting Dr. Drakken a hostile glare when he tried to stop her. His demand for _quiet time _went ignored.

The blue man groaned miserably as if she were subjecting him to torture as she scanned for an appealing station with the least static. It seemed _everything_ was bound to get under his skin right now. “Put a sock in it,” she carped in reply to his noises of displeasure.

Done tweaking the radio, she idly investigated rest of the dashboard, switching on the air conditioner – it was a hot evening, and she’d never stopped burning up – and peeking in the empty ashtray in hopes of finding a cigarette butt to salvage. Curiosity drove her to poke around in the glovebox, maps and napkins hiding a few trivial items like a disposable camera, pocketknife, aspirin, pens, and a lighter.

The camera was quickly confiscated for flashing the man, which was to be expected. He was still blinking away the spots when he shook at it her, chiding her not to mess with his things. He threw the camera back in the glovebox and slammed it shut, only for her to pop it open again a second later to fish out the next item of interest.

He grunted his disapproval and grimaced, but otherwise kept his complaints to himself for the moment as Shego sat back to turn an old pocketknife over in her hands.

It looked like some novelty item a boy scout had dropped in a parking lot eons ago, and by some turn of events had found residence in Dr. Drakken’s glovebox with the rest of his junk. The aged handle had a dull finish and the metal was tarnished by rust, the blade’s hinge no exception. The edge was blunt, chipped, and bent.

Something flitting in the darkest reaches at the back of her mind eluded her efforts to call it forth into the light. Like a word on the tip of her tongue, she couldn’t put her finger on it. Her brow knitted together as she brushed her thumb back across the worn blade.

Dr. Drakken’s agitation got the better of him suddenly and he reached over to pluck it from her, grumbling, “Give me that. It’s not a toy.” He stuffed the dingy pocketknife into his pocket instead of tossing it in the compartment with the camera.

“It’s dull enough it might as well be,” Shego retorted, and kicked the glovebox shut herself as she threw her heels up on the dash. She expected the man to make another complaint as he watched her with narrowed eyes, but he kept his mouth shut.

She heaved a sigh and turned up the radio, sitting back to nod to the beat of any given song it had to offer.

As she listened, watching evening thunderheads build ahead, she couldn’t help picking out the occasional song she knew her brothers enjoyed. With nothing else to occupy herself, the drudgery of the trip was making her crack, and she caught herself humming and muttering along more as time drug on. She could only hold fast to her reservations for so long.

_“You got a fast car. I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal,” _she mouthed along idly, and her eyes stung with the unanticipated threat of tears. The memory of her dweeby brother Milo strumming along on their mother’s guitar filled her daydreams and made her chest ache.

Glaring at the console, she swallowed the lump in her throat and changed the station, but it was no better. Finding another was a lost cause when clear stations were few and far between.

She skewed her eyes shut, recalling videotaping Hugo just last year, standing before a foggy mirror in a towel with her hairbrush substituting for a microphone as he sang and danced with Cyndi Lauper playing over a boombox. She’d played hooky that day to catch him for blackmail. The home video was still hiding somewhere in their VHS library in the living room.

No matter what tunes came on, fond memories of her family came with them. There wasn’t a single hit on the air she hadn’t heard in their company.

As an electric guitar resounded over the speakers, Shego leaned back with a heavy sigh and mouthed, _“Oh my god,”_ as she accepted the defeat. There was no way she was about to hit any high notes at a time like this, so she nodded along and mumbled to _Welcome to the Jungle_ under her breath. She smirked to herself, thinking back to a time when her brothers had been too sheepish and uptight to admit to liking it.

Reciting the opening lines to herself, she turned up the volume and watched Dr. Drakken’s brow furrow in silent aggravation. Becoming a thorn in his side helped her forget about her brothers now. A devious smirk crossed her as nodding turned to rocking. She strummed the air playfully, but he was set on being a stick in the mud and refused to join in, so she threw a look back at the henchmen, taking notice of the youngest among them squirming just slightly with a knee bounce, a slight nod to the rhythm…

She’d found a new target.

Eyes on the henchman and nodding to him, she waited for a response as she tried to impishly coax out the young man’s playful side, but he only fidgeted with his hands as his face flushed red. She wasn’t sure if she was honestly flirting with the poor disciplined fellow or if she was doing it purely to push the driver’s buttons, gauging how much she could get away with.

She found out pretty quick – less than two minutes in, in fact – where the line was drawn when a particular sound slipped out while miming the suggestive utterance of the vocalist, aimed at Bobby or whatever his name was.

Dr. Drakken might have been busy watching the road, but he must have been keeping an eye on her antics too because he switched off the radio in the next instant and snapped his fingers with his glare fixed in the rearview mirror at the henchman directly behind him.

_“Hey!”_ Shego objected in reflex, turning a sharp scowl at the grouchy blue man.

“Do you remember what I said last night?” Dr. Drakken asked suddenly. “About _appropriate conduct?”_

Her face heated. “Uhh,” was all she could utter. She found herself crossing her arms and frowning out at hay field, unhappy with reprimand and embarrassed to have last night’s near _misconduct_ brought up.

Dr. Drakken made another of his weird grunts and rolled his eyes, shooting her an incredulous look. “I wish you could behave like a lady,” he said almost pleadingly. Shego couldn’t decide if it sounded more like a nice way of telling her to _grow up_ or a request for modesty.

In any case, just for that, she slumped ungracefully and threw her feet back up on the dash. “Chill, geezer, I’m only playing,” she retorted.

His brow furrowed deeper at the comment and he flicked another frown her way. “I’m sorry, but I’d like my men focused on their tasks, not on getting a piece of ass from a coworker,” he bit back crudely. “And I know there’s _someone_ back there with just that on his mind.”

Bobby or whoever shrank shamefully while the other two cocked their brows at him as if this were news to them.

Dr. Drakken flapped a hand dismissively. “They can cloud their heads on their own time,_”_ he said with an air of distaste. “Same goes for you, but my men are off limits. Remind me to put that down in the contract.” He rubbed his temple with a pensive frown.

Shego raised her brow at him. Since when did wrong-doers abide by contracts? She didn’t question it aloud. Instead she snorted, “Wet blanket, much?”

He didn’t dignify it with a response.

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, she dropped her seat back a bit, a mischievous thought in mind as she leaned back. If messing with the boys was out, that left one man he hadn’t specified. She stretched her arms above her head and wrapped them around the headrest behind her, arching her back as she stretched and let a _completely_ innocent sound slip from her lips a second time. The man beside her remained unfazed, though she felt a few roaming glances from those in the back, and she hastily realized with certainty that they weren’t the eyes she wanted checking her out after all.

A sense of shame set in quickly in the absence of interest in her puffed chest or the little wiggle of her hips. Heat bloomed over her face. What was she doing? She suddenly felt childish. In some small _aggravating_ way, it was humbling to be reminded that she wasn’t as irresistible as she liked to believe. A little reassuring as well that the rogue doctor wasn’t some common pervert with the predictable shifty motives for spiriting a girl away.

The embarrassing display wasn’t worth it anyway. Her abdomen ached more than before, the throb reminding her of her treason. More than her ego was bruised.

Feeling dumb and frustrated, Shego didn’t wait for Dr. Drakken to decide when they’d earned radio time again. She pulled her go-bag from the floorboard, digging into the bottom of the backpack to find something to ease the silence. A walkman wasn’t exactly an essential, but she was glad she’d brought it along anyway. She pulled on her headphones and turned her eyes up to the sky.

Thunderheads were roiling overhead now, ugly and dark and turbulent, and looking much the same way her stomach felt. A bleak darkness had fallen with the downpour they were heading straight into now, which meant there would be even less to see.

She hadn’t heard the end of it from Dr. Drakken yet apparently, because when she dug into her bag again to find a pack of smokes he turned a challenging glare on her, which she glanced at and ignored. Popping a stick in her mouth and lighting it up with her own flame, she drew out the first drag and watched his eye twitch as she found yet another of his buttons to push.

Before she could react, he’d snatched the squashed pack of smokes from her hand and tossed them in the back, uncaring that it nearly struck one of the henchmen in the head.

Shego pushed her headphones back, shooting daggers over at the man. “Got a problem, dude?” she snapped.

“It’s impolite to smoke in the confined presence of non-smokers,” came his cold rational answer.

Slumping, Shego groaned loudly. “You _have got_ to be kidding me. You’re all a bunch of pansies.”

“You can take a smoke break at the next gas station,” Dr. Drakken promised.

She groaned again in disdain, yet she took a last puff and smothered the cigarette in the unused ashtray without another word in complaint. It just wasn’t worth the effort. “Does anyone have any gum?” she asked instead.

The youngest henchman timidly pulled something from a pocket of his overalls and glanced to Dr. Drakken for a nod of approval before he handed Shego a stick. She was sure to make him regret it, abusing the small gesture by popping the gum as loud as she could for the sole purpose of grating the blue man’s nerves.

She had to be bored out of her mind if she was this dead set on harassing a guy who’d just bailed her out of her own personal hell and offered her a job with perks, but she decided he’d just have to excuse some misbehavior. It served him right anyway for shutting off the radio and spoiling any entertainment she might find on this damn trip.

At one point he had to push her back over to her seat as she was hovering too close for comfort, leaned too far over the center console to study the needle of the illuminated gas gauge creeping closer to E. Granted, she was also fishing for a reaction whilst smacking on gum.

One of the henchmen leaned forward then, and she heard him mutter to Dr. Drakken, “Are you sure you can take on a kid?” The comment stung, but blasting the henchman in the face would prove nothing.

Dr. Drakken rubbed at his temple. “It’s a phase,” he responded in a grumble, speaking about her as if she weren’t even there.

Shego passed up the smoke break offer at the gas station, just as hesitant to leave the rig as she’d been all day.

There did come a point amidst a break in the storm however when she finally willingly climbed out, taking advantage of the stretch break in the parking lot of a roadside coffeehouse on the way out of a small town they’d detoured through. She’d only been comfortable enough to leave the vehicle without fear of being ditched when the crew boss walked off to the order window, his men following eagerly like a line of ducklings.

She shouldn’t have reflexively turned down another offer for sustenance, and she was inwardly berating herself for it. After a minute of watching the crew dilly-dally and contemplate the selection, she gravitated toward them.

Cutting the line, she went straight to Dr. Drakken’s side at the window. She didn’t sugarcoat her demands. “Can I get an apple fritter?” she asked flatly, giving his sleeve a tug.

His eyes narrowed unjustly at the barista rather than the source of his agitation. “I don’t care what _you_ buy,” he dismissed.

She snaked an arm around his elbow then. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” he dismissed, and Shego shifted her stance to lean against him and waited. After another moment of scowling at the menu as if in a tense standoff with it, he breathed loudly through his nose and looked over to her. _“Nnng, fine. _Whatever you want, I don’t care. Just get off of my foot.”

Obliging, Shego smirked, feeling quite pleased with herself. “Apple fritter and medium latte,” she chirped to the barista.

“And I’ll have a co—hot chocolate,” he stuttered. “And a scone…”

Shego was about to remark if he had a caffeine aversion too to go with his anti-smoking policy when snickers from the crew broke out, and she glanced over her shoulder instead. The muffled laughter didn’t go unnoticed by Dr. Drakken, because he shook her off his arm and whirled on them. “Is there a joke you’d like to share with the class, Lux?” he sneered at the larger man, arms crossed and fingers tapping.

The men clammed up and the middle guy – Lux – muttered sheepishly, “No, boss.”

Shego took in the sight – three cringing men dressed like janitors submitting to a guy no more threatening than themselves with his rumpled blue suit and disheveled mullet – and she wondered what Dr. Drakken had ever done to earn the respect. He could put on a fierce villain-worthy glare, but besides that, what could they have to fear other than being fired?

She probably should have taken their ducked heads as a warning sign, but she smirked up at her blue escort instead. “I’d like to know what was so funny,” she egged as he turned back to the window to pay.

He waved her off with a grunt. She took her half of the order from the barista as Dr. Drakken stalked off to scarf down his.

As she followed, one of the goons gave her a tiny tap on the shoulder, and she paused to shoot a look back at the youngest of the henchman.

_“Cocoa moo,”_ he whispered behind his hand with a nod to Dr. Drakken, and she got the sense there was an inside joke she was missing.

The inside joke had infected her brain in the time it took her to cross the parking lot. She was sure she’d never heard the term before, yet it rang a bell, and the bell continued to toll as she leaned in through the passenger-side window.

The blue man was back behind the wheel, leaned against his own open window as he watched passing traffic and sipped his hot chocolate. Shego watched him and the lights flickering off the lenses of his glasses, and she chewed slow and pensive as the bell chimed away from the back of her head.

Shego finished her apple fritter before wondering aloud, “What’s cocoa moo?” Sure, she had a hunch, but hearing him say it might prove entertaining.

She smirked at the man’s tensing shoulders, but then he rolled his eyes and huffed. “Chocolate milk,” he answered flatly.

“And that gets your goat?” she scoffed, but the bell was ringing louder.

As she raised her latte to take another sip, the sleeve of her sweater slipped down, and the bruising of her restraints from this morning became hard to see past.

Shego didn’t hear his answer. Her heart was beginning to pound, and caffeine wasn’t to blame. The blood drained from her face like the tide before a tsunami. He said something louder to get her attention, something questioning, and her eyes darted up to his face.

She dropped her latte on the ground and was yanking open the door in the next instant, climbing in on her knees as she had last night to grab his face. He shouted in surprise this time, nearly spilling his hot cocoa when she grabbed him to snatch off his glasses.

“Excuse me!” he spat beneath her, offended, but she barely heard his protest as she stared at the ugly twisted scar curving beneath his left eye, the old stitch poorly healed over.

A long-forgotten fever dream rushed back to her.

_“You!”_ was all she could sputter. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she leapt away when he grabbed for her sore wrists. She slammed the door to put something between them, hands flaring with a green blaze oozing between her fingers, a misfire leaving an ugly dent in the door.

From a distance now and ready to fire, to shoot to kill or whatever it took, she shouted, “Who are you!”

The blue man rubbed a cheek where her nails had left little indents. _“Dr. Drakken,”_ he slowly enunciated, palms exposed in peace as he eyed her hazardous hands. “That hurts, you know,” he went on, not sounding too wounded. She could change that. “I introduced myself and gave you my card and everything – I thought you’d know my name by now. You’ve only been riding shotgun with me the past few days.”

From the corner of her eye, she caught the henchmen abandoning their orders as they took notice of the commotion. They weren’t charging in to Dr. Drakken’s defense yet – good – if they did – they’d regret it, if they lived.

Blood thundered in her ears. “That’s not what I mean!” she spat at the wide-eyed blue man. “Stop fucking with me. What is this? Some kind of revenge scheme? Where are you taking me?”

“Put those away, Shego,” he coaxed, gently gesturing with his hands for her to lower hers. He didn’t need to talk slowly to her like a damn mental patient. “We’re going back to my office—”

Henchmen sneaking up on her didn’t go unseen, and she took a leap away from them, jumping back toward Dr. Drakken and the SUV as he shouted at them to halt.

Her heart was hammering, chest heaving, her breaths coming in short erratic gasps. Panic was fire in her blood. She’d fought alone before – what was so she so afraid of now? Maybe it was the fact a man had just stepped out of one of her worst nightmares, and she’d been foolish enough to throw her life away for him – and now she was surrounded and hundreds of miles from help. But she had her fire this time, and combat training. She wasn’t helpless.

She whipped back around to the blue man. “You _kidnapped_ me,” she accused, reeling.

“What are you going on about?” he nearly laughed. “You came with me on your own accord. _Remember?”_

“I remember how you got that scar,” she spat venomously. “I didn’t forget _that.”_ Well, maybe she had a little – the memories of the worst days of her life were awfully dim. But now, it came back to her in broken bits and pieces – namely being smuggled out of a laboratory by a young doctor only to deliver gratitude in the form of a blade to the face in a blind panic. The whole ordeal had long been chalked up to a bad dream, and no one ever talked about it after that because there were more important things to worry about than how she’d come to be found in a rest stop hundreds of miles from the lab where she’d been sent have her newfound freak powers studied.

Shego swore she could feel the knife in her clutch, sticky with blood as it had been all those years ago, but there was only glowing plasma seeping from her fists now.

Dr. Drakken’s eyes went dark now as he touched his face again, and she was braced to blast his head off when he reached for the floorboard – but it wasn’t for a gun or anything harmful. Only his glasses, which he pushed back up onto his nose. He fixed a glare on the henchmen still looming behind her and gave them a wordless nod to send them off. When they’d retreated out of earshot, he leveled his dark stare on her.

“Shego, get in. I think we need to have a chat.”

She was hesitant to approach, but the man kept his hands in sight, placed on the wheel. She didn’t get in though. Only leaned through the window. “What do you want with me?” she asked lowly, hating how her voice shook as she crossed her arms to reign in the urge to blast him.

“We’ve been over this. Nothing’s changed,” he said evenly. “I’m not out to double-cross you—”

“That’s exactly what a double-crosser would say.” Her paranoia wouldn’t be brushed away so easy with smooth talk. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Why do you think?” he said with a sick amusement in his snort. “I was only curious how long until you figured it out yourself. I didn’t mean anything by it. It took you a little while, but well done, Shego. Do you want a gold star with that?”

She remained impervious to the dry flattery. Her nails dug into her arms as she growled her displeasure and glowered harshly at him.

Dr. Drakken’s eyes flicked down to her hands, but then a toothy smile crossed his mug anyway. “Honestly, I should be thanking you,” he chuckled, turning to inspect gnarly scar in the rearview mirror. “Sure, it hurt like a son of a bitch, but it’s helped to pull my look together quite well. So, it was a fair trade.”

“Repaying you for busting me out by stabbing you in the face was a fair trade?” she scoffed skeptically.

He shrugged. “For starters, someone feared me for the first time in my life,” he said casually. “One might say you gave me a taste for it.”

Her skin crawled as she digested his statement. She wanted to blast him for the remark, but she recoiled instead, gripping the door as the jade glow began to bubble from her hands again. “Are you saying you get off on preying on helpless girls?” she hissed. “You molested—”

“Hey, now! I never laid a hand on you,” he shot vehemently, quick to snap back in defense. “Not in that way, anyway.”

“You were breathing in my face and touching me when I was unconscious,” she retorted with a hostile lilt. She wasn’t the only one raising her voice now. She didn’t remember everything – but she remembered that much. It was a long time ago. The details were sketchy.

Dr. Drakken flung his hands above the wheel in exasperation. “You sleep like the dead! I was afraid you _were_ dead! You wouldn’t wake up. I was doing you a favor by taking off that damn electric collar. _Ungrateful brat.”_

Collar – she vaguely remembered a collar, but not so much how it came off. She tried to rekindle a rage. “I warned you they were coming and kept my mouth shut about you,” she defended. At least, she was pretty sure she did. “Don’t fuck with me, Dr. Drakken, because I’ll have you know—”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted impatiently. “You’re far more potent and dangerous than before. I know this. That’s part of the appeal, frankly.”

Taken aback, her heating hands cooled and her brow smoothed just slightly. “If you know I’m a bigger threat, then why are you coming back for me now?” she uttered, bewildered.

The man shook his head in exasperation. He took his hands off the wheel, and she almost snarled at him to keep them where she could see them, but he only crossed his arms over his chest to slump back.

“I didn’t come to Go City for _you,”_ said Dr. Drakken. “It just so happened that you caught my eye again. Only this time I think I’m ready for you. _I’d_ still like to have your firepower on my side and _you_ need somewhere to go. We both have something to offer the other here.” He gestured to the air between them, fixing her in his deep scowl. “What do you say? Do we still have a deal, Miss Go?”

She eyed him, weighing the risks and how trustworthy a villain could be. If he’d wanted revenge – well, he could have done something by now. He’d had opportunities but he hadn’t taken advantage of them. She didn’t rule out the possibility he was only biding his time to get her back to his lair, where most villains kept their contraptions that passed as torture devices.

Time would tell.

In the end, she decided she’d extended her trust in him this long. A little longer, a few more state lines, or however long it would take, wouldn’t hurt. She was a big girl and she had an innate means of defense. She could handle herself if this decision lead her into trouble.

“It’s _Shego,”_ she reminded crossly.

Dr. Drakken hummed pleasantly in lieu of a laugh and turned the key in the ignition, signaling it was time to go. He’d won, and the bastard knew it.

Shego laid claim once more to the shotgun seat beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was amputated from the last fic, but then it took root and took off.
> 
> It's meant to be ups and downs in their younger years, because I really like the idea that they were friends (or more? ;3) before they toughened up and got serious, like they legitimately were the old married couple by the time show took place. LOL I have my reasons. Selfish selfish self-indulgent reasons, because this was never meant to see the light of day.
> 
> It's sort of a everything's-the-same-except-AU inspired by a few minor details in the show, although I'm trying not to go against anything that the show itself could disprove. I take info from interviews with a grain of salt.


	2. Hospitality – 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug: for fic art and Drakgo art in general, check out [Split-n-Splice](https://split-n-splice.tumblr.com/) and [MidnightCaptions](https://midnightcaptions.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. ;B
> 
> Anyway. So this chapter got longer than expected. I hate long chapters though, so I cut it in two rather than shortening it bc I like saying words.  
There's not much dialogue in this chapter. I swear I make up for that in the next.

The batteries in her walkman had died hours ago, and the ambience of the drive was close to driving her mad. The radio was mostly white-noise in face of the ugly weather conditions, and did nothing to break the lull. It was almost enough to make her un-ban _I Spy_ and _99 Bottles._

The peace and quiet and hypnotic stretch of highway didn’t help the state of awareness of the bullheaded driver who’d been refusing to give up his position all night. The blue man’s fatigue was indisputable, but the only one denying it was him. Shego made an attempt to convince him to forfeit the wheel. There was no reason for him to drive tired when he had three henchmen to do the work, but he was still averse to the idea. She chalked it up to a pride thing.

The deciding factor came when Dr. Drakken drifted across the fog line while side-eyeing her, about to object once again, but the jarring vibration of hitting the rumble strip made him grit his teeth instead. He gave a grunt of annoyance as he pulled over, and rudely ordered the most wakeful of his henchmen to swap places with him.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. It didn’t sit well with Shego as the blue man threw himself into the seat just behind her. A deep-rooted paranoia rose from her gut to remind her that he had pulled a gun on her just a couple nights ago. Having him sit directly behind her in the dark where she couldn’t keep a good eye on him simply didn’t appeal to her.

She shot a sharp look over her shoulder at the henchman sitting in the center, and gave him a curt nod that conveyed all he needed to know. The goon in red understood the jerk of her head, quickly moving his butt out of her way even if it meant waking the last henchman by clambering over him to avoid confronting the boss.

Shego had climbed between the seats and was sitting in center by the time Dr. Drakken was buckling himself in. She took up far less space than the average henchman, so the dirty look and grunt of displeasure he gave her felt unwarranted, and almost warranted a punch in the shoulder to give him a reason to dislike her as a neighbor. If he had any real complaint about the new arrangement, he was too tired to voice it.

Of course she was tired too – it had been a long _boring_ ride – but she wasn’t so tired as to simply slump back and nod off like him. Not to mention she was reluctant to let her guard down in the presence of four felons. Keeping that in mind certainly put her on edge and rang a wakeup call in the back of her head whenever the drowsiness got to her.

Just as soon as she began to wearily second-guess her qualms and the risks, she inwardly berated herself. Falling asleep was a bad idea, plain and simple – for a number of reasons, just one of which being heightened vulnerability. She couldn’t fight in her sleep.

Shego’s head was starting to pound. She carefully wrapped her arms around herself as she slouched back and crossed her legs, the position making her belly ache enough to return some wakefulness to her, although not much.

A bed to curl up in was the last thing she needed on her mind. And besides, even if she _wasn’t_ surrounded by thugs, she couldn’t fall asleep here. She didn’t have her special sleep aid to keep her powers suppressed. She’d be a fire hazard now if she dozed off, and that wouldn’t do. Unconsciously activating her glow was about as likely as sleep-talking for her, which wasn’t comforting. All it would take was a nightmare – and she had more than enough fuel.

Letting her eyes shut would be begging for trouble, so she forced them to stay open. All the while, she envied the alleged villain asleep beside her and his henchmen, only one of which was awake now to keep them on the road.

It was dark, dreary, boring, and a center seat had no right being so comfortable. Exhaustion was to blame for her inhibitions not being quite up to snuff.

With rest was out of the question and the to-and-fro swish of windshield wipers too reminiscent of a mesmerist’s pocket watch, Shego let her focus wander to the next thing to pique her interest. Which happened to be the strange blue man beside her.

First it was just a knee rested against his leg, and then picking some lint off his sleeve. She almost hoped he’d wake up and make a scene just to ease the monotony as she slowly came to lean against him, but she found herself not terribly opposed to feel of his shoulder under her cheek, even if he didn’t make a very good pillow.

For just a second, Shego lazily kindled a soft glow in her palm to shed a little light to study him, but the green fire reflected off his glasses and the windows, giving away her proximity, and she hastily extinguished it before the driver’s eyes could flick to her in the rear-view mirror.

Her face heated, but she wasn’t completely deterred. She lit a much dimmer glow to take her curious inspections lower, hopefully out of immediate sight of the henchman behind the wheel.

The blue man’s arms had fallen limp to his lap, his hands the only thing of interest there until a seedy curiosity she almost snickered at crossed her mind, which she quickly forbade henceforth. His hands were enough to sate her boredom anyway, and with nothing better to do, she honed in on them.

Shego picked at a cuff, waiting for him to wake, and snuck her fingers beneath it to find his wristwatch and give the knob a twist to offset the time just to spite him before tugging his arm carefully closer for easier access.

Dr. Drakken didn’t have the rough grubby paws of a mechanic by any means, which she would think would come with the territory of working with machines. Instead his digits looked better cut out for delicate detailed work, yet little blemishes and broken nails showed he’d been putting them to use, even if they were fairly free of calluses to indicate any extensive manual labor.

With her non-burning hand, she tried to gently pry open his fingers for a better look at his palm, the drowsy thought of palm-reading drifting across her mind – but then he stirred and she sat back immediately, her glow snuffed out in the blink of an eye and hands tucked innocently under her arms.

Her heart thudded and her cheeks burned more than before, as if she’d been caught, but she waited for a tense moment before breathing easy again once she was sure she wasn’t about to face repercussions. 

Dr. Drakken hadn’t woken up to her poking and prodding, so the false alarm didn’t stick. Hell, maybe she _wanted_ him to wake up. To entertain her, or maybe to suffer with her. She’d play innocent if he did.

Pushing her luck and abusing the opportunity, she was soon back to idly touching him, her fingers gingerly finding their way up to his mop as she waited on edge for him to wake. While he was obliviously out for the count and incapable of protest, she wove a few small loose braids into his shaggy mess of hair, shutting out her shame for allying herself with a mullet head with locks almost as long as her own. It was the last thing she could think of to busy herself and it came with no reward other than to serve as a fleeting distraction from the boredom.

Giving up, she decided with a miserable sigh that she’d have to think of new ways to press the man’s buttons when he was awake. She crossed her arms and slumped unhappily against him with a little more force than necessary, in much the same way she might rudely shoulder one of her siblings.

Staying that way had been a mistake.

She awoke uneventfully hours later, coming around slowly enough to remember where she was in time not to startle, her biggest concerns being her own morning breath making her nose scrunch and the longing for a hot shower. She was warm and sweaty and that didn’t bode well – but it was daytime now and the hot season hadn’t quite come to a close yet, so there was some hazy hope it wasn’t just her freak nature at play. She was still in her sweater as well, and she pawed at the black turtleneck she still wore from Thursday, but was too reluctant to expose the uniform beneath on the off chance someone reported a sighting of the ex-hero on the run.

She groaned blearily, and then a hand was on her shoulder, shoving her to make her sit upright, and she refused to give the man the satisfaction of a fluster when she realized she’d fallen asleep against the rogue doctor. “What year is it?” she grumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Someone made a quip about the year 2000, and so started day two of the cross-country road trip, and she _still_ didn’t know where they were going. If three of the men hadn’t just been sprung from incarceration and she hadn’t abruptly decided to get the hell out of Dodge, she might have wondered why they hadn’t caught a flight instead. She might have hijacked a jet herself if she’d known it would take this long, but then she supposed Global Justice might have been hot on her trail with their own jets.

Jet lag and cramped space were a literal pain in the butt part of road trips, but it still beat another day in Go City.

Thanks to a couple wrong turns, it was turning out to be a much longer journey than _anyone_ had anticipated. Someone gave her an idea of _how much longer,_ but that was ever-changing depending on how many times the dunces got them lost whilst avoiding the freeway. Each henchman took a shift behind the wheel, and breaks were few and far between. Even Shego was ordered to drive eventually, which surprised her. She still wasn’t told where they were going, only instructed to follow whatever highway they were on for however many hundreds of miles. Against Dr. Drakken’s instruction, she exceeded the speed limit, but otherwise didn’t fool around, too eager to reach the destination so she could get out of the damn rig once and for all.

When the second dusk fell, she surrendered the wheel in favor of returning to the back with Dr. Drakken, her spirit to be a pest crushed like a bug on the windshield a thousand or two miles back. Even the classic, _“Are we there yet?” _lost its charm eventually, and she could think of nothing to do to show her resent beyond crossing her arms and huffing indignantly. Had she known a major road trip was in store, she might have come better prepared. The withdrawals and lack of facilities hadn’t made her a particularly happy camper today, but at least she wasn’t the only one in a funk.

Eventually, lethargy weighed her down once again, and she made the grievous error of dozing off for a second time as they drove through yet another painfully boring night. She’d never forgotten what a risk shut-eye was without her medication, but she accepted that unfortunate drawback of her glow and tried to stave off the drowsiness for as long as possible through sheer discipline, but no one was perfect. She could only cross her fingers and hope nothing terrible would happen when she inevitably fell victim to the vicious cycle.

Now wasn’t the _ideal_ time for a bad dream to plague her unconscious mind, but she had no say in the matter.

_Red wasn’t his color and it didn’t belong in his hair as her big brother lay face-down on the floor. Her little brother turned his back on her as her baby brothers wailed, asking where Sis was, but she was too far away to wipe tears from the twins’ chapped cheeks. Similarities ended at the face and the only one dead to her was a deadbeat mother._

_Yet she became a little white lab rat, and like a rat, she ran. And she ran and ran and men in red she sought refuge among were nothing more than ruddy wolves waiting for her. Cries for a hero went unanswered. The only figure in blue merely stood by to watch the cruelty unfold._

The fever dream swamping her sleeping mind took the back burner in an instant as Shego awoke with a gasp. She drew back a hand in reflex, as if she instinctively knew where to aim before she’d even opened her eyes.

Dr. Drakken caught her wrist in the nick of time as she was mere inches from swiping him across the face with a hand glowing hot and bubbling with unchecked alien fire. He’d been standing outside the door, leaning in to shake her awake.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, sweat chilling her scorching skin yet not cooling her effectively enough as her body slowly relaxed. When she realized there was no immediate danger, her mouth moved as she struggled to apologize but not a single intelligible word came out until she’d taken a deep breath and swallowed the cotton in her mouth. “What…?” she managed to croak instead.

Rightfully wary, Dr. Drakken eyeballed her as he backed away slowly. “I said _we’re here.” _He gave her a wide berth, but then he blinked and shook his head and gestured a little too quickly at her, making her flinch at the movement, ready to go back on the defense. “What was that all just now? You were _glowing_ – not just your hands. _All over._ And— oh please, Shego, not here—”

She was too busy stripping out of the singed top layer to fire a comeback, in a hurry to get the civilian outfit off before the polyester could stick too badly. If the rogue doctor was such a know-it-all, it shouldn’t be hard for him to figure out she’d been about to combust. The turtleneck and jeans she’d worn to hide her uniform the past few days had begun to melt and burn in her nightmare, and it was a smell she could do without.

The man had been quick to shield his eyes when she ripped off her sweater, and after a moment she heard him breathe a mutter of relief when he realized she wore something beneath. Thankfully that something was _fireproof._

She was thankful now that she hadn’t changed out of her Team Go uniform – or worse, left the specialized suit behind in Go City.

Discarding the disguise gave her time to get her land-legs back – they’d been on the road for _far_ too long – and as Shego stretched, she surveyed her new surroundings.

They were in warehouse of sorts, just large enough to be sufficient in serving as a hangar for a few gutted crafts in various stages of disassembly or repair. A fleet of half a dozen assorted vehicles parked along one wall, the individuality of which gave Shego the impression that they must belong to the crew of henchmen harbored here. The last of the three men they’d traveled with was already disappearing through a door way at the back.

Shego let out a sigh. “Well, I’m not gagged or dead yet,” she muttered reassuringly to herself, grabbing her go bag from the floorboard and following a few steps behind the blue man skulking after his henchmen. She raised her voice to test the acoustics, but also to let her discontent be known, “If I have to sit that long in a car again, it’ll be too soon.”

Dr. Drakken waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, and gestured back to the jet junk pile. “Soon I hope to be cutting travel time in half and conventional vehicles will be a thing of the past. For the elite, that is.” He turned an optimistic grin back to her, as if hoping the promise would impress her.

It didn’t. She’d heard enough self-proclaimed evil masterminds boast to take it with a grain of salt.

More concerning was his grin. She wasn’t sure if she’d get used to the rogue doctor’s crooked smile and misaligned teeth. They may be befitting of a madman, but he needed to keep his mouth shut, she thought inwardly.

Keeping her remarks to herself, Shego shadowed him in silence.

The warehouse fed directly into sort of lobby furnished with a couple couches and a coffee machine in the back, along with a TV, sink, and a fire extinguisher. Two of the henchmen still lingered there, slurping on joe now and ceasing their chatter upon entry of the boss and his new recruit.

Scaling up an earthy back wall were stairs without railings carved into the rock, something Shego hoped wouldn’t be the norm.

She recognized the construction right off the bat. She’d snuck around lairs like this before. She knew the architect by name from reading the Global Justice file on him and had even faced him once in battle. The architect always got off scot-free, because there wasn’t much to be done about a contractor who chose to work exclusively for criminals.

As she followed Dr. Drakken deeper into the abode carved from stone, it became abundantly apparent to her that this was one of the cheaper lairs, which wasn’t encouraging. If she had to guess, this was Dr. Drakken’s first. She hoped he’d learn soon enough not to sacrifice structural integrity to save a buck, but hopefully that lesson wouldn’t be learned while anyone was inside.

The stairs lead to a long crooked hallway, metal support beams arching where necessary to hold up the rock ceiling. Sconces lit the way, some draped with cobwebs. As Shego kicked at pebbles on the dirt floor, she found herself glaring at Dr. Drakken’s back as he strolled ahead with hands clasped behind him.

“Hey,” she called, breaking the silence as she punted a small stone like a soccer ball. It skittered down the hall for quite a ways before clinking against a steel door at the very end of the hall, a small dust cloud left in its wake. “You said all your employees were guys, right?”

The stupefied sound Dr. Drakken made was weak, but then he squared his shoulders to put on his tough-guy front. “Yes? _And?”_ he barked defensively, getting up in arms over her judgmental tone. He stopped before the only other door in the hall, located roughly halfway, and punched in a PIN code that Shego paid careful attention to as she hovered to peek past his shoulder.

“Oh, nothing,” she said airily as the steel door split open with gears grinding in protest. “I just hope you weren’t expecting _a lady’s touch,”_ she sneered, folding her arms, “because I’m not a maid.” Contrary to what her family seemed to think.

He grunted but didn’t answer.

Shego lingered at the door, unsure about following Dr. Drakken into a dark room that sounded too vast for comfort, past a door with automatic locking and so far from any exit that could promise a handy escape route.

When fluorescents came on with an eerie resonating _clang_ that made her jump a bit, she managed to steal herself against her nerves, setting her resolve and slipping in before the door could shut.

Tailing the man into the dim lab, Shego wasn’t about to admit her relief to find that although the floor here was still made of stone, at least it was immaculately clean. Polished, even. She felt more like she was walking on marble than dirt now, their footfall echoing sharply through the cavernous space.

The first thing to draw her eye here was a large round work table in the center, an equally large surgical light illuminating it as if to showcase a mess of steel, cords, cables, gears – robotics mumbo jumbo. It reminded Shego of the robo-toys she’d seen a boy tinkering with back at the geek lab she’d swiped tech from the other day, only on a much larger scale. As they neared it, she picked out a dismembered robotic arm, a metal head with the face missing, a spinal cord – and she concluded Dr. Drakken was building humanoid robots. He wouldn’t be the first, but it still made her skin crawl.

He cast a leery glance back at her as he swung by his workstation, and pressed a button under the table. The work lamp shut off and a curtain hung from a rim around the massive fixture came swishing shut, hiding his projects from view before she could get too close. As she passed, she couldn’t help an attempt at peeking through the veil, but he beckoned to her and called gruffly, “Keep up.”

She reluctantly obeyed him, choosing to believe that she’d have plenty of time to meddle later.

As she peered about, Shego came to the realization that this room hadn’t been simply hollowed out. It was a natural cave, with spires of stone hanging from the ceiling like fangs. It didn’t seem like the kind of place one would want to put a laboratory full of costly materials, but could she expect less from a madman? Not to mention, it was a cheap lair, probably utilizing whatever natural formations there were to save on digging and rubble removal. Braced against the walls were a few metal support beams, but they weren’t reassuring.

Dr. Drakken took the stolen goods she’d retrieved for him back in Go City to his computer desk, and Shego followed.

She crossed her arms and her lips quirked as she tipped her head back to examine an oversized twelve-foot-wide computer monitor. It reminded her of the one at the Team Go headquarters. She’d never asked what company produced such monstrous screens, but she’d gathered over her brief hero career that they catered frequently to villain hobbyists. It was an essential part of every villain lair. She should have expected to see one here. By the bulbous screen, it seemed dated though. Maybe even second-hand.

She couldn’t help narrowing her eyes at it.

It hardly resembled Team Go’s, but it still incited a memory of a time she’d once snapped at the older two of her brothers for using the multi-thousand-dollar device to play video games. Then she remembered abusing it herself to watch television. She remembered the supersized pixels had hurt her eyes.

Shego’s frown was torn from the quiet sleeping screen to the look of focus on Dr. Drakken’s face as he popped a panel on his desk to access the innards of his supercomputer, installing the stolen hard drive into a slot among several others. Staring at the dark bags under his eyes, she wondered idly how much time he spent in front of this stupid setup. Just how much sleep did the guy lose working in here?

In retrospect, nearly all villains she’d faced in the past seemed a little sleep deprived and a lot caffeinated.

Dr. Drakken snapped the panel back into place and spun around, leaning back against his desk. Shego shifted in place and adjusted the bag hanging from her shoulder as he surveyed her head to toe, and finally he scrubbed his face and grumbled, “I suppose we should get you taken care of.”

He scowled in the direction of a dark passage drilled through the cavern wall. “First door is a washroom,” he said, gesturing. “Three doors down from that should be your quarters. I ordered for arrangements to be made for you, so if they slacked off, tell me and I’ll take care of it. Stay on this floor. Now shoo. I have work to do.” He waved her off to dismiss her.

Shego adjusted her backpack strap and stalked off into what she imagined might be a trap. Paranoia nagged persistently at the back of her mind, even when she reminded herself that she’d made it all the way here without incident. She tensed for an ambush anyway.

It was a pleasant surprise there wasn’t one awaiting her, but she couldn’t bring herself to relax now that she was tiptoeing down a strange hall with intuition alone as her guide.

As promised, behind the first door was the washroom. Everything was so sterile white, she wondered if it had ever been used. She decided the facilities must have been for convenience or the off chance someone needed a quick wash in case of a chemical spill. That, or the cleanliness was due to this Dr. Drakken guy being a bigger clean freak than the lobby and entry hall let on.

Shego moved on down the tapering hallway to locate her designated room, finding the fourth door was ajar as if to tempt her to come snooping in. She ignited a hand to shed some light before she stepped inside. No booby traps were sprung, no goons jumped her, and no wires were tripped. Shego almost hoped something exciting would have happened.

She found the light switch and when it buzzed to life, she examined the furnishings. For now, there was only a simple twin bed with plain white sheets, and beside it was a small dresser and vanity mirror. Otherwise empty and twice the size of her room back home, with stone teeth hanging from the dark earthy ceiling, Shego’s stomach knotted with doubt she’d ever be comfortable sleeping in here. She’d have to put work into personalizing it with rugs and posters or something before it could be worthy of being called a bedroom. That was assuming she stuck around long enough.

All alone in this empty stagnant room, Shego became increasingly aware of something critical: she reeked to the high heavens. In her own humble opinion, anyway. The whole ride here, she hadn’t even noticed herself because the overwhelming _man_ smell had overpowered it. As her face flushed and she dumped her bag on the bed, she wondered if anyone had noticed she hadn’t had a shower in days. _Mortified_ was putting it lightly, but some things couldn’t be helped.

Few times in her life had she felt quite _this_ grungy, and she’d been through some rough times in the past. She hastily dug through her belongings to gather a few essentials, hoping the facilities had been stocked with soap.

Once the bathroom door was locked behind her, she was tearing off her uniform. Top half of her suit discarded to the floor, she was unbuckling her belt when she caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze.


	3. Hospitality – 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
...OH COOL?? I CAN SHARE IMAGES HERE? THAT'S NEAT. *ahem* Fic art for this chapter in particular! Find more of my Drakgo art at [Split-n-Splice](https://split-n-splice.tumblr.com/) (fic-related) and [MidnightCaptions](https://midnightcaptions.tumblr.com/) (general) on Tumblr
> 
> Also I may have exaggerated about the dialogue. Hang in there? What can I say. :T  
I'm sharing this now while I'm still OK with it.

Shego’s breath caught in her throat and her jaw went slack. Her hands trembled to her midriff as she finally faced the ugly bruise spread across her belly for the first time.

Her fingers feathered over her stomach to test just how sore it was, and suddenly she was a hundred times more tender than she had been moments ago. These days, she was accustomed to being sore and persevering through it, and until now she hadn’t acknowledged how bad her injury really was.

She’d seen such marks before and recognized the webby tendrils radiating out from the blotch splashed over her midsection, discoloring her skin to grisly shades across the spectrum, and she wondered with a cold wave of panic if she had more serious injuries like internal bleeding to worry about.

She was hardened to her own fire these days and she could take a hit – but being superhuman didn’t mean she was impervious to the deadly force.

She’d given herself this bruise.

Through her brother’s thick head, she’d managed to bruise herself with her own energy blast.

_Extensively._

Her eyes stung suddenly. Frowning and fighting back tears, she squirmed and tripped out of her boots and pants and undergarments, barely holding back a torrent until she was sitting in the shower where she couldn’t distinguish if the hot liquid running down her face came from her or the showerhead.

Hot water wasn’t soothing for once, and it did nothing to ease her aches and pains today.

If she’d done this to _herself…_then what it did to Hugo’s _brain _was something too horrible to imagine. Her own _brother_ – and she’d bet her life that she’d killed him by accident. What were his chances of surviving that? He was thick-skulled, sure, but could he withstand a blow like that? _He_ wasn’t under any medication though to keep his superhuman qualities suppressed, so maybe – no. She’d be a sucker to get optimistic now.

As Shego miserably coerced herself into washing up as intended before the water could run cold, she reflected on her brothers left without her for the umpteenth time since running away – but now she considered the likelihood of being down a brother. _Milo,_ in charge of the twins? That was a disaster waiting to happen. That boy would have to grow up fast, just like she’d had to. It wasn’t fair, but that was life.

She almost considered going home – but no, there was bad blood now. After what she’d done, how could they ever trust her again? She was no one’s hero anymore. Community service wouldn’t fix this.

Returning now would be to give herself up anyway, and that rotten Global Justice overseeing Team Go might never let her see the light of day again for taking down a star pupil – and that was if the government didn’t get a hold of her first to ship her to some obscure laboratory somewhere to figure out how to harness her glow to weaponize it or something. Laying low and staying here as a fugitive, she decided, may be her best bet if she wanted to keep her freedom. Not that it felt like she had much at the moment.

At some point while toweling off, Shego managed to battle her persistent sniffles into submission. Her chest ached, but she felt better otherwise. Clean, at least. It was shameful to think about, but crying herself out until the water ran icy had been relieving somehow, she acknowledged bitterly.

Out of sight, out of mind, she was glad when she could finally dress and hide the ugly blemish on her stomach. A baggy green pullover kept the pressure off. Equally baggy black sweatpants replaced the rest of her uniform, save for her sole pair of boots.

With the sore reminder hidden away, she felt ready to go on pretending she was fine, and moseyed back into the lab once she was sure her eyes weren’t so red as to betray her.

Dr. Drakken was still at his supercomputer, but he’d pulled up a seat now as he busied himself with salvaging whatever data he was after from the stolen hard drive.

Shego drifted closer until she was standing beside him, watching him read in between rapidly swapping windows, typing, pounding buttons, and shuffling around digital material. She couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it. It was pure gibberish to her. A Rosetta stone couldn’t help decipher the pages of coding written in what might as well have been a lost language. It was understandable he was glaring at it.

“I’m bored,” she announced, seeking distraction once more. She grimaced and rubbed her throat, not liking the sound of her own voice yet.

The man was too distracted himself to respond right away. Just as she began to suspect she’d been tuned out, he grunted. “Not my problem. Go paint your nails or something.”

Nail polish hadn’t been on her list of go-bag essentials, so that wasn’t an option.

Shego turned her focus down to the man’s unwavering deadpan for a minute, and tried not to smirk when he finally flicked an unnerved glance back at her as she moved to stand behind him, folding her arms on the back of his creaky desk chair.

He made another irritated noise as she plopped a hand onto his greasy hair and gave it a ruffle, and he ducked a little as if her hand weighed a ton. He was otherwise unmoved. If he thought he could ignore her, he had another thing coming.

For the moment, Shego willfully forgot he was a felon and boldly wove her fingers in and out of the shaggy mop he denied was a mullet, again working braids into it to alleviate her boredom. This time she got some satisfaction out of it, now that he was awake to grudgingly bear it.

He tried leaning forward out of her reach, but she only stooped over the back of his chair and gave him a yank that could be passed as an accident.

Dr. Drakken figured out soon enough that pretending the problem wasn’t there didn’t make it go away.

Finally he’d had enough of it and swatted her away as if she were a fly. “Mess up your _own,”_ he hissed. “You have plenty of it.”

“It’s still damp,” she declared dismally, as if it would explain everything. Making her point, she picked up a soggy handful and gave it a flick, splattering droplets on his glasses when he made the mistake of turning to glare back at her.

“I’m _working_ here,” grouched Dr. Drakken. “Go find something else to do.”

Shego settled for folding her arms on the back of the chair again, willingly abandoning the braiding endeavor. “You _did_ say I can’t play with the henchmen,” she reminded.

The man grumbled something indiscernible as he wiped his glasses clean. “If I amend the rules, will you go away?”

“Maybe,” said Shego dryly.

She leaned further forward with a dreary hum, resting her chin on her folded arms as she stared over the top of his head at the giant monitor. It was still a bunch of nerd nonsense to her, but she gathered he must have located what he was after in the time it had taken her to shower, and was backing it up now.

“Is there a TV around here?” she wondered.

Dr. Drakken rubbed his eyes and sat back while the lagging computer processed his commands. In wordless reply, he heaved a heavy sigh and pointed. To the left of his desk, opposite from the corridor that lead to Shego’s room, was a simple nondescript door camouflaged against the brown stone wall.

She took the cue as permission to go see for herself, and so she finally let him be in favor of exploring a bit.

Shego prepared herself again to walk into a trap. This was a crook’s lair after all, and like it or not she was hardwired from experience not to invest much trust in his kind. She was content that there were no dirty surprises waiting for her here either though, and she relaxed just a little more.

If it weren’t for the polished stone floor and carved earthen walls with metal supports holding up the ceiling, this next hollow could have passed as an ordinary apartment. No amount of décor could detract from the fact it was a cave though, even if it appeared the man at least _tried_ to give it a homey touch.

There were bookshelves and a few house plants, and a lamp on an end table beside a recliner. A brown corduroy couch sat before a mahogany coffee table, facing a big flat screen television ahead of its time. The entertainment center wasn’t complete without a stereo system and collection of media in the form of VHS tapes, vinyl, 8-tracks, and cassettes.

On the other end of the room was the kitchen with too much counter space and bar stools stationed around an island. Cookware hung from the back wall, but a layer of dust indicated it had been some time since more than a favorite frying pan had been used. Unless Dr. Drakken had a roommate, the dirty dishes in the sink had been sitting for maybe a week or more, a dehydrated sponge being the incriminating evidence. She sure as hell wasn’t about to roll up her sleeves and wash them, as was once her duty back home.

She scrutinized a basket of fruit on the counter, realizing she was pretty hungry, but decided not to risk it even if the apples and oranges still looked pretty good.

Shego returned to the living room, giving the couch a suspicious once over before sinking into it and sighing in relief to find it was heavenly soft. It was a pleasant surprise it didn’t smell musty at all like she might expect, and a throw pillow tempted her to lay her head down, but she resisted.

After a minute of slouching with her head thrown back, she roused herself to sit upright and pluck the remote from the coffee table. A force of habit, she whacked it on the heel of her hand for good measure before trying the buttons.

Shego spent the next half hour or so channel surfing with sinking hope, searching for news broadcasts that mentioned anything about Go City. Heck, even the east coast in general would have been comforting, but there was really nothing on this time of night. She found a weather station giving a brief update for the early-early birds, but all she could gain from that was the understanding that they were hidden away somewhere in a state shaped like a damn tortilla chip – _Nevada_ – but northern or southern or east or west, she didn’t know.

Pang of longing twanged in her chest upon realizing just how far from home she was.

She almost left the television playing reruns of _Scamper and Bitey_ to give herself some familiarity she hoped would soothe her, but it only served to remind her of her baby brothers, so she switched it back to paid advertisement for some once-size-fits-all diet plan that guaranteed results.

Hunger lured her back to Dr. Drakken’s desolate kitchen. She found the cabinets contained just about nothing but Vienna sausages and an absurd quantity of pickles that made her chuckle incredulously and shake her head. While the freezer was full of TV dinners and other microwavable quick fixes, the fridge held eggs and expired milk, as well as a few beakers containing colorful frothy fluids she wasn’t about to touch.

“Dude really knows how stock the place,” she grumbled to herself, letting the fridge door slam, beakers rattling inside. She eyeballed the bowl of fruit again, but again passed it up, because another door hidden in a dark crevice drew her eye.

Shego wound up sneaking out of the scientist’s personal living quarters a minute later, her cheeks flushed with a newfound unease.

A natural spring running like a brook through his room had been interesting, but it had paled in comparison to the crown jewel of the room, standing like a big square ruby. She couldn’t very well look his way now after finding a big king-sized, decked out with red satin that had made her backpedal so fast she’d slammed the bedroom door. She really wanted to believe he just liked sleeping like a starfish in luxury.

Despite her disquiet, she hazarded a glance his way, only to catch herself watching him work. He was oblivious to her perturbed stare as she wondered silently how many young women he suckered into this place. She wondered how many _left._

She had a moment of doubt what she was here for.

Shego shook her head, reassuring herself that he’d yet to prove himself to be such a slimy guy. Testy and pushy, maybe – but sleazy, no. Not to mention, the rest of his digs wasn’t exactly a chick magnet, and she was sure there were brothels in Nevada if he needed a fix that desperately.

She relaxed a little. Even now, the man was all business, too absorbed in reviewing endless coding gibberish to notice her. She managed to convince herself she had nothing to worry about. _If_ the nerd had the balls to turn on her, she wouldn’t be bashful to let him know he’d chosen the wrong gal to screw with.

It made her feel just a little better that Dr. Drakken was in his own little world at present, failing to acknowledge her even as she walked her fingers along the back of his chair as passed by behind him.

Content to be ignored for a change, she kept her unnerved curiosities to herself and left it at that.

Shego wandered back to the hall to find her bedroom. She rifled through her belongings, hoping in vain that she still had a pack of crackers left in the bottom of her bag, but no leftover car snacks were found.

She flopped down on the secondhand mattress with a huff to frown at the fanged ceiling, left to wonder when she’d be given something to do. He’d said he wanted a thief, didn’t he? So why wasn’t she out looting? This was downtime, she supposed, but that didn’t make her any less restless.

_Antsy_ was an understatement.

Left to her own devices to occupy herself, she wasted little time before she began peeking into the other rooms.

Although it could be assumed they were off limits, Dr. Drakken hadn’t explicitly told her to stay out of them. Only to stay on this level. Besides the bathroom and her room, she found a couple cluttered storage rooms with shelves piled high from floor to ceiling and mountains of junk stacked on the floor. It was so packed full of boxes and scrap metal, papers and rolled-up plans in disarray, that she didn’t dare to step foot inside in fear of a junk avalanche. She had a hunch much of it had been simply thrown inside from the room now allocated to her.

She discovered the only other door in the corridor, a simple archway located at the very end, lead directly down a crude flight of stairs. The other floors Dr. Drakken had warned her to stay off tempted her, the echo acting as a siren’s song reeling her in. After a moment of hesitation and a cagey glance over her shoulder toward the lab, she descended.

As she wandered down the eerie staircase lit by more sconces, she wondered inwardly if the architect had put any thought into the floor plans or if he’d just utilized caverns and crevices as he found them. She supposed probably the latter.

The steps were carved into the stone, sloping through a winding fissure, and after some ways she came around a bend that opened up to a spacious office with walls lined in hefty tomes, shelves of dusty literature from floor to ceiling. A crescent Hench Co. brand office desk and matching chair sat at one end with some filing cabinets behind it, and at the other, tucked into a niche, was an unmanned surveillance system. Between them, a well-fed fireplace blazed to keep the chill off despite the fact it was still summer. The main door was just an arch carved into the stone, leading out to a dark empty corridor.

While exploring deeper was tempting, the CCTV grasped her attention instead. She zeroed in on the array of monitors, squinting up at grainy black and white feedback.

After a moment of scanning them, Shego was content to find that no security cameras overlooked private areas like bathrooms or bedrooms.

There were some henchmen about in a cafeteria, some starting their day early and others ending it. A couple were busy spit-polishing boots and hefty batons. One brute jabbed another in jest in much the same way one might snap a twisted towel in a locker room, and it became clear the sticks were more like cattle prods than something a majorette would twirl. Shego made a mental note to be wary of them.

In another grainy image, she found herself, and she almost looked back to search for the camera behind her like a kid in a grocery store.

Finally, the lowest screens were filled with feed from a handful of outdoor cameras watching the perimeter, and in one in particular, she could make out scarce white dots of a town just beyond the fence and spindly pine. It was still dark out.

She reckoned the burrow lair had been built into a hillside. If she had to, she’d guess Dr. Drakken’s first conquest would be the town it overlooked. In her short career as a hero, she’d seen the scenario play out about several times before, in Go City and in neighboring metropolises. It never worked. The longest she’d seen a city in lockdown under a madman’s rule was one week, tops.

There wasn’t much going on at this hour, vacant corridors and rooms bearing little interest, so Shego drifted away from the CCTV system. Wandering deeper into the lair was still alluring – if only for the sake of doing something she was told not to – but as she passed Dr. Drakken’s desk on her way, the stack of mail persuaded her to swing around and plop into his chair instead.

At least when it came to his creature comforts, he wasn’t so stingy. It still didn’t make up for the risky construction that could come caving in at the slightest tremor though.

Shego eyeballed the accumulation of mail and newspapers, and bit her lip as she wrangled with her self-restraint, but then she decided that an address could give her an idea where she was, so it was worth snooping a little.

The mail was originally delivered to a P.O. box. She’d expected that much. It was a shot in the dark, but she’d still held out the hope she might recognize a name. She didn’t of course. Nevada was a big state, and _Las Vegas_ and _Reno_ were the only places to come to mind anyway.

With a puff, she tossed the stack of bills unceremoniously back on the desk.

She almost got up and left, but something else caught her eye and made her stomach lurch. She deliberately locked her gaze on the other end of the desk, staring intently away from the newspapers screaming for her attention.

Biting down hard on her lip, Shego wove her fingers in her lap and squeezed her eyes shut tight, giving herself a stern talking-to that didn’t help settle her heart or the queasy tumult in her belly. Glimpsing _Go City_ on the headline of a newspaper clear across the continent didn’t bode well. Her brother was dead and gone. She was ready to accept that as a fact. At least she tried to tell herself so.

She felt her chest tighten as a pesky sob tried to bubble up – dammit, she thought she was done with that – and she gulped it back and drew a deep breath.

Shego kept her eyes lowered as she reached across the desk for the unread newspaper. She looked anywhere but at the damn paper as she unfolded it, keeping her eyes on the ceiling, the fireplace, the staircase, herself on the CCVT feed across the room.

She was trembling.

She needed to know.

Her eyes darted down almost involuntarily – she caught the word _stable_ – but she didn’t dare give herself false hope.

Breathing deep and bracing herself, she finally let her eyes focus down on the paper laid out on the desk, because she couldn’t risk holding onto it anymore without incinerating it. She still felt sick, but she was glad she found the guts to face facts.

_Go City Hero Bounces Back,_ read yesterday’s headline of a national newspaper.

As big as the words were, it instantly became a blur as Shego set eyes on the photo featured across the front page. Although Hego was in a wheelchair, and despite an ugly welt and half his face being engulfed in bruising peeking out from his bandages, the knucklehead was _grinning._ Dressed in matching red harlequin uniforms, the Wego twins sat in his lap wearing weak smiles for the camera. Mego was left to push the chair, looking extra unhappy.

Shego didn’t have to read the article. She didn’t need to know anymore about the status of his recovery or what therapy he’d be undergoing. She didn’t have to read her brother’s quote pleading the public to keep their eyes peeled for the missing member of Team Go to help bring her home, or that there was an investigation underway to find the suspicious man she was last seen with, or about the search parties that were sure to be sweeping the tri-state area for the body of a young woman they’d never find.

The headline alone had told her all she needed to know.

She didn’t look at the photo of her family for more than a moment before skewing her eyes shut again, as if that would be enough to stop the tears from welling up. She couldn’t stand to see her brother looking the way he did, knowing she’d done it to him, and she hated herself that it even bothered her. How was she supposed to be expected to become a hardened criminal accomplice if she couldn’t handle a little backstabbing? He’d _lived._ It could have been worse. He’d deserved it anyway, hadn’t he?

She couldn’t stand another minute of feeling as if her brothers were looking up at her in betrayal from the photograph, and with a sound of footsteps coming to her attention, she folded the tear-blotched newspaper in a hurry and rubbed her eyes on her sleeve.

If she’d hoped to sneak back to her room before she was caught, she was sorely disappointed, because it happened the footsteps belonged to none other than Dr. Drakken.

And he was already halfway across the office, wearing a deep displeased frown as he caught her behind his desk. “What did I say about—_oh no,”_ he groaned, pausing before he reached his desk. His face twisted into a grimace. “If you’re going to be having _issues,_ take them to your room.”

“Thanks for the support,” Shego tartly grumbled past her sleeves as she patted her damp cheeks dry. Her throat was too tight to say more.

He snorted as if in disgust, but it faded to a look of akin to concern as she sulked by. “Alright, I give,” he huffed impatiently to her back. “What, pray tell, is the matter with you now?”

“Nothing.”

_“What?”_ Dr. Drakken squawked as he followed her to the stairs, miffed and baffled. “But you were just—”

He needed to keep his stupid nose out of her personal _issues _before she broke it. “It doesn’t matter,” she explained, and hurried up to put distance between them. The man on her heels might have seen her at her rock-bottom lowest in the past, that didn’t mean she wanted him catching her with bloodshot eyes now.

_“Women,”_ he scoffed in flippantly under his breath, just a few steps behind her. “One of life’s great mysteries.” He didn’t back off.

Emerging into the corridor at the top, Shego spun around to face him as she shuffled backwards. She’d had a moment to ease the tightness in her throat and will away the tears, and was keen to change the subject before he could push it. “So anyway, Doc,” she said, voice still hoarse, “anywhere I can get some grub around here?”

Dr. Drakken tripped on the top step and fixed her in an incredulous stare. His mouth opened and closed, and it looked like he was about to ignore her inquiry in favor of demanding answers to his, but he wisely gave up. “Well, _usually…”_ he mumbled, and scratched his neck with a frown casting over his mug as he glanced back down the stairwell. He hummed uneasily to himself.

Shego surmised he was accustomed to passing off new recruits to the senior henchmen in the lower levels, letting _them_ show newcomers the ropes. But after her wily behavior in the car with his crew, she’d blown her chances of associating with them anytime soon. Given the dubious criminal records of henchmen in general, she didn’t question the decision to keep her separate as precaution. He could have given accommodating her a little more thought, but then again, this had all been rather sudden.

“You’re hungry,” he said bluntly, requesting clarification but sounding more like he was speaking to a new unexpected pet he was realizing he was wholly unprepared for. He looked back down the stairwell, mumbled, _“mess hall,”_ to himself and shook his head. “I have some—,” he began, but Shego was quick to interrupt.

She’d seen his pantry, and she wasn’t interested.

“Can I borrow the car?” she brazenly asked, failing to sugarcoat it. “Is there a 24-Seven around here? I could really go for something icy.”

Dr. Drakken surveyed her through narrowed eyes. “Yes to the convenience store, no to borrowing my wheels,” he said, and strutted ahead with hands clasped behind his back as if he was ready to go back to ignoring her.

_“Come on,”_ she whined, following close behind.

“What collateral do I have? If I hand you my keys, there’s no guarantee you’ll come back,” he reasoned. “If you leave, that’s your choice, but I would like to not lose my car in the process.”

“Dude, if I wanted to steal it, I wouldn’t be _asking permission,” _she scoffed.

“You can go. You just aren’t going alone.”

Shego frowned at him for giving her a runaround as she followed him to the exit, the suspicion rising that he intended go with her himself rather than send a henchman to babysit her. Which she couldn’t really complain about.

Letting him lead, she was quiet all the way back to the oversized garage before she finally piped up. “You know, you’re going to have to actually trust me eventually.”

Dr. Drakken didn’t spare her a glance, but he barked a single incredulous laugh that echoed throughout the warehouse and made her jump. “You turned your back on countless people who believed you to be a hero, _including _your own family.” Rubbing salt in her wounds was indeed evil, but Dr. Drakken ignored her glare boring into him and he shook his head. “Whatever you did to earn that trust, I’m afraid you may have to work harder to earn mine.”

He patted down the pockets of his trousers then, finding his keys, and held them out toward Shego. She took the set with a look of suspicion replacing her scowl. She racked her brains to figure out what trickery Dr. Drakken was up to as he took the passenger seat and she climbed in behind the wheel.

“Um…I don’t know this town,” she noted as the oversized garage door groaned open at the press of a button on some remote Dr. Drakken tossed back under the seat. “So you’ll have to point for me.”

With an arrogant snort, Dr. Drakken crossed his legs and folded his arms behind his head. “No, thank you,” he said airily, and a wicked grin cracked across his face for a moment. “I think I’ll watch you figure it out yourself.”

Shego glared incredulously at him for a second, but groaned and rolled her eyes and didn’t argue. She could threaten him into compliance, but using her glow on another person right now was the last thing she wanted to do.

A henchman patrolling the perimeter met them at the main gates to open up. He must not have met her yet, because he greeted her with alarmed gawp and reached for a radio on his belt. But then Dr. Drakken leaned over and waved, and the bumbling goon proceeded to roll open the chain-link gate in haste.

Shego had to follow her intuition to decide which direction to go when she reached the road, and she was pleased with herself when she discovered she’d made an acceptable choice. Nonetheless, Dr. Drakken judged her wordlessly in the dark, his only cues being quiet hums and grunts. They rolled into town within minutes, and although Shego asked him twice and even shoved him in an attempt to bully directions out of him, he only chuckled and told her, “You’re on your own, kid.”

He was of absolutely no help, and let her drive around the sleeping town for a good ten or twenty minutes with heat rising in her face. Locating a damn 24-Seven convenience store wasn’t the most difficult task Shego had ever accomplished. It was just among one of the most recently trivially frustrating things.

She’d almost left the store without paying, but Dr. Drakken snatched her by the arm to drag her back to the register. The clerk gave the strange duo, the blue man in particular, a funny look when he rang them up, and Shego elbowed her escort to remind him that she’d paid for the last tank of gas, so he owed her. He narrowed his eyes at her, but returned the favor nonetheless.

As they left, he explained it was better not to cause a stir in one’s town of residence, particularly important when it was such a small town where everyone supposedly knew everyone.

Dr. Drakken provided directions back to the lair, but Shego took them with a grain of salt, taking an “accidental” detour and passing his driveway. She found the shoulder room to pull over, and cut the engine. She wasn’t ready to trap herself back in that stuffy burrow he called a lair just yet.

“What are you doing now?” Dr. Drakken griped as she unbuckled.

Shego ignored him, pushing open the sunroof and climbing out, taking her frozen drink and sub sandwich with her. He scowled up at her perching above him, but seemingly accepted where she’d chosen to have her meal. He didn’t drag her back down by an ankle, anyway. The whole trip, he’d been fairly consistent in his objections to eating in the car, so he broke into his own plastic-wrapped turkey sub with great reluctance.

Sipping a cold fruity drink that reminded her of home, Shego shut her eyes and imagined the briny sea breeze was blowing instead of an arid Nevada wind. Without the distant sound of waves and gulls and boats and the ever-present white-noise of metropolitan traffic, she had a hard time picturing it.

She nibbled her food and pretended she was only looking out at Go City from a different angle than she was used to, but it simply wasn’t vast enough. The sleepy town below her was nothing but a puddle of light. She quickly became disappointed because she couldn’t find any substitutes for the landmarks, and the newly-constructed Go Tower was nowhere to be seen either of course.

For a moment, it stung deep inside to accept that this wasn’t Go City. She couldn’t just walk into town and let homing instinct kick in to guide her home and back to her own room, her own bed, where she would wake up in the morning to her father telling her to drive the twins to school. She wouldn’t see her big brother’s smiling face tomorrow, wouldn’t be forced to put up with her pompous little brother’s attitude, or her baby brothers’ need for a substantial parental figure.

Her breath hitched as grief tried to catch up to her and drown her again.

A voice below her cut through the thoughts of her brothers in the next moment.

“Shego?” Dr. Drakken called up tentatively, but she had a hard time tearing her eyes off the pathetic puddle of glitter to look down at him. “Is there something you need to get off your chest?”

She swallowed thickly. “You’re not my psychiatrist,” she retorted, and took a long sip of her melting drink, but it did nothing to ease the choking sensation. She shook her head anyway and huffed, “Nah.”

“Well, something is the matter,” he acknowledged sourly below her. “I need you in working order. So if there’s anything you need to tell me, then spill it already.”

But Shego was silent. Even if she _wasn’t_ too guarded to open up just like that, she didn’t know how to _begin._ As she chewed it over between bites of her sandwich, she could feel him watching her in the dark with a withering glare for the longest time.

After another moment, Dr. Drakken spoke again. “Maybe you can answer questions better,” he grumbled. “This whole thing – you taking me up on my offer and coming with me, I mean – it wasn’t just done for no good reason. So what really made you decide to come with me? And – and why were you _handcuffed?_ What mess did you get yourself into—?” He shut his trap as she tensed under his pressing questions, and silenced himself with a dry mouthful of turkey sub.

“I’d rather not say,” Shego muttered eventually from above. “It’s personal.” A lump in her throat still threatened to choke her and her eyes still stung.

Dr. Drakken washed down the bite with his coke. “I can understand that,” he said reluctantly with a slow nod. “I just hope it doesn’t follow you here.”

It was bound to, sooner or later, but she wasn’t ready to warn him about it.

He grunted a warning for her to watch out as he stood up then, shoving her knees aside to make her move so he could awkwardly squeeze out to join her. He took a spot on the edge of the sunroof across from her to analyze her, his eyes skewed against the dark.

Then he turned his frown to the puddle of town glitter and blew a pathetic raspberry. “I really did try to honor your wishes in Go City by not prying into your personal life, but I need to know, for peace of mind, why you ran away,” he explained, but she was silent, denying him answers. “More importantly, if you regret it.”

The bruising on her wrists told her _no._ The ache in her heart and the bruising on her stomach however screamed _yes._

She was slow to reply, but before she did, she reached across the distance. He jerked back, but not quick enough to dodge her fingers hooking into his hair. She grimaced as she pictured where she had struck her brother. It took her a moment to realize he had her fixed in a perturbed stare, and she withdrew her curious hand and sheepishly averted her eyes.

It was stupid, but somehow it eased the ache in her chest a little to be reassured that she could still touch somebody without accidentally killing them with a plasma blast. Any _normal_ human would have been toast after what she’d done.

The lump in her throat made it impossible to sound fine. She hung her head and shook it. “I did something really bad that I didn’t mean to,” she muttered under her breath. It felt like a big secret leaving her lips, but it was probably plastered all over the news back home. “It just shook me up is all. But – y’know – he deserved it.”

Her lips zipped shut before anything else could slip out. Her melting slushy did little to cool her down.

Dr. Drakken didn’t need the play by play or every reason why. He didn’t need to know about overeager Hugo jumping the gun and signing her up for the whole ordeal in his excitement to form a superhero team, or about the months she’d spent as GJ’s little lab rat being stuck with needles and trained before being thrown to the wolves at the tender age of fifteen. She didn’t need to lament on how the whole hero scene was a thankless job and a load of bullshit. He didn’t need to hear about her withdrawals, and he certainly didn’t need to see her shaking and holding herself together now.

He only needed to know she most definitely _wasn’t_ having second thoughts.

After a moment, she sensed a smirk had come over Dr. Drakken, and shot a glare up at him. “Something bad, hmm?” he crooned, as though genuinely interested, and then jokingly asked, “What was it? Did you kill someone?” His chuckles faded fast when he picked up on her guilty silence. If the quip was meant to cheer her up, it backfired.

“Dr. Drakken, if you just let me take my secrets to my grave, I’ll do anything you ask,” she practically begged.

The man sipped his coke and sized her up before cocking his head at her, a wry smirk back on his face. “Really?_ Anything,_ you say?” he teased, making another attempt to lighten the mood. She could sure use some cheering up, but he didn’t seem to know how to do it. _She_ wasn’t even sure how he could do it. But one thing was for sure – using that tone of voice wasn’t it.

Shego realized quickly what the bargain could entail, but was comforted with the knowledge that she always had the willpower to deny the most ridiculous requests. She hadn’t yet signed any binding contracts, and even if she had, she’d break it. _“Almost _anything.”

“How do you feel about stealing a radioactive power cell from a military base?” Dr. Drakken wondered, grinning.

It threw her for a loop, and she stared at him in a stupor for a long moment before an incredulous smirk found its way onto her face. Maybe he did know how to cheer her up. It was a far better absurd request than she could have hoped for anyway. “This military base wouldn’t be Area 51, would it?” she wondered with a small laugh.

Dr. Drakken leaned back on a hand, smirking as he raised his bottle of coke to take another swig. He shrugged nonchalantly, as if such an undertaking was no big deal. He was undoubtedly insane if he thought so. “Possibly.”

Shaking her head, the ex-hero couldn’t help laughing quietly to herself. Was this man really that nuts? He had some big dreams, alright. “Sounds fun,” Shego said amicably. She wasn’t sure if she was joking. She’d need more details.

“You’re up to it?” He almost sounded surprised, but maybe he was more delighted by her consideration than anything.

“Possibly,” she threw back at him.

He blinked away the shock. _“Oh._ Alright. Uhh…” He sat forward again, rubbing his neck, and laughed feebly before his smile fell. “It’s not Area 51, but I’ve lost a couple of men to it,” he clarified apathetically. “They couldn’t fit through ventilation ducts. But I imagine there are certain things a woman with magic hands could do that the average henchman can’t. I could stand a chance with you.”

“You sure you can keep up with me?” she jeered with a wry smile. “Because if you think I’m putting my life on the line _alone,_ you have another thing coming.”

Dr. Drakken threw her a dirty look, but rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I think you and I are going to get along _splendid.”_

“Good,” said Shego, swinging her legs and taking a stab at her frozen drink. “I was beginning to think you couldn’t handle a teenager.”

“Yes, well, you won’t be one for much longer,” he dismissed, flapping a hand. “At least you’re not jailbait.”

In an impish effort to put him back in his place before he got too high on his horse, she kicked his shin, not enough to hurt, but enough he shot her a glare. “Hey, Dr. D?” she called over between sips of her icy drink. “Thanks for taking a chance on me.”

“Likewise,” he replied, and moved his legs safely out of the way of another swing. “Now about that power cell. I’d like to have it by Thursday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna mention that "I would like to not lose my car in the process" bit absolutely alludes to something that happens later. aaahahaha
> 
> Comments? Comments to spare for a starving writer, anyone? *shakes can*


	4. Enabler – 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI this fic is mainly Shego’s POV, with some exceptions. Like this chapter, apparently.

Breaking into a government facility was a bigger deal with far higher stakes than filching a pocketful of tech from some overachiever college brats with zero security measures in place, but the former hero’s first official assignment as Dr. Drakken’s newest recruit went off without a hitch.

It had taken some haggling and reasoning with her before she really accepted the task, agreeing to chance trespassing solo – during business hours in broad daylight no less, when the facility wasn’t under nightly lockdown and when suspicious activity theoretically might go overlooked amidst all the hustle and bustle.

Parked a safe distance away, Dr. Drakken waited on standby in his dingy utility van. Though he couldn’t witness her performance first-hand, he received a grainy account of it through a small camera clipped to the collar of her uniform, which transmitted feedback to the van where he could oversee from afar from a monitor. He’d bought a map of the lab at auction, and though they’d reviewed it enough she must have had it memorized by now, he was still ready to offer direction and words of encouragement through an earpiece.

Initially, he had his doubts. Her infiltration method was alarming, to say the least, but thankfully only to him. Through binoculars, he watched from a safe distance as the peculiar superhuman lit up her hands, utilizing the mysterious fire to tear herself a hole through chain-link where she wouldn’t be seen by staff at the facility. The alternative was finding a way over several strands of hot wire coursing with high voltage along the top.

_“What are you doing?”_ Dr. Drakken squawked, eyes wide as she tore through the fencing with little resistance. He’d been curious to see how she planned to get in, but hadn’t expected it to be so straight-forward.

Once Shego had pried apart the wire enough to slip through to the other side, she showed the button camera a hand radiating plasma, Dr. Drakken reflexively twisting in his seat to look back at the feed on the monitor set up on a bench in the back. “Mutant perks,” she answered shortly, voice crackling over the headset. “Not just for burning.”

Just as soon as the surprise of watching such a slight girl rip open a fence ebbed, he found himself cackling in amazement and wiped away a stray tear of delight. “Oh-ho, am I glad I found you. You’re something else, kid,” he chortled under his breath, and she had something crass to say about calling her _kid._

When it came time to make their hasty escape, he was surprised and a little impressed that he didn’t even have to stop and wait for her as he would his henchmen, because she’d wasted no time in leaping onto the side of the speeding getaway van and slipping in through the passenger window before he could even hit the brakes. He’d barely seen her daringly barreling into the road, and the thump on the side of the van had caught him entirely off guard, but he grinned ecstatically nonetheless as she buckled in.

With the task completed and a getaway made before the alarms could blare in their wake, Dr. Drakken found it hard to take his grin off the girl as she stowed the hefty power cell the size of a watermelon in what amounted to an ice chest he’d prepared for it.

At least, until she held out her hand and said, “Pay up, old man.”

The taste of his own medicine was effective in wiping the smile from his face.

“Eager beaver,” he grumbled, fishing his wallet out and taking his hands off the wheel to count out several bills whilst steering with a knee. The reward was generous – not too generous – but enough to make her eyes light up a little as she checked the legitimacy of the bills he’d slapped into her hand.

_Eager beaver_ was right. It must have been burning a hole in her pocket, because no sooner had they rolled into the little Nevada oasis town he’d called home for the past year did she nod to the resident Smarty Mart. “Stop here,” she requested. It didn’t sound negotiable.

Still, Dr. Drakken snorted. “I don’t think so. I’ve got to get this baby home.” He patted the crate of precious cargo wedged between the seats.

“You’ll just have to drive me back in later,” she warned airily.

“Nice try—_ow!”_ While the superhuman’s services could prove useful, the yank of an ear he could do without. Whether he liked it or not, it appeared a visit to Smarty Mart was in order. Yielding, he cut the wheel to pull into the supercenter and she graciously released her pinch.

He rubbed his sore ear and shot her a glare, but she was too busy to notice it, already wrestling on a sweater and flared jeans over her black and green suit. She may have already been clothed, but he still had the decency not to stare as she hid her uniform. She shook out her ponytail and admired herself in the mirror on the visor while he found a place to park.

“How do I look?” she chirped.

He didn’t look. “Your boots don’t match.”

Before he could cut the engine himself, she snatched the keys from the ignition and popped out. Dr. Drakken was sure he saw her poke out her tongue at him. “I won’t be long,” she lied, and left him to groan and slump forward against the wheel.

It was unfair how easily she could manipulate him when he couldn’t _do_ anything to her in return, as per the contract. Well, he could always fire her, but that was a last resort, and her offenses hadn’t been bad enough for that. He could live with a little bit of hair pulling and name calling and schoolyard bullying. He was still happy to have her – some of the time anyway – though that could always change.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel and bounced a leg, checking his watch every ten to forty seconds, wondering how long _“I won’t be long” _would be. Without his keys and without dissecting the dash to disfigure the radio into working order, he was doomed to sit in silence.

Not five minutes later, Dr. Drakken was stalking into the dreaded establishment. Eyes unfamiliar with him stared. Those who were familiar with him may have glanced his way once or twice, but otherwise carried on, business as usual. Daylight hours were not his preferred time to shop – too many people to gawp – and it took gritting his teeth not to snap at the nearest shopper staring at him slack-jawed. He wished wearing a balaclava wasn’t cause for phoning the police, but he had a thick hide and could endure some ogling and mutters.

The shop wasn’t one of the larger Smarty Marts, but it was large enough to dread trying to locate anyone. There was no telling which end of the supercenter she’d wandered off to, but thankfully he didn’t have to search from one end to the other. He hadn’t yet made it past the checkout lines when he spotted a head of raven hair with an iridescent green sheen weaving in and out of racks of clothes.

_“Of course,”_ he sighed to himself.

When Dr. Drakken reached her, he opened his mouth but she looked up nonchalantly and justified herself before he could unthinkingly chastise her for wasting his time on fashion.

“I only have, like, two outfits,” she defended without remorse as she threw something in the cart, “and one of them’s pajamas.”

His mouth shut with a click of his teeth and he crossed his arms. She’d only been under his roof for a few days, and she’d already made her discontent over that matter known. “It’s not my fault you’re too good for the issued uniforms,” he grumbled.

“Damn right I am,” she shot back dryly as she plucked a pair of pants from the rack and held them to her waist, shook her head, and put them back. “I don’t care about your dress code. I’m not wearing a second-hand jumpsuit with some man’s grody pit stains.”

She had a point. He held his tongue.

It didn’t take long for Dr. Drakken to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot and peek curiously at the circular rack of jeans. After a hesitant moment, he grabbed the first to catch his eye – a dark pair with embroidery up the leg – and arched his brow at her with a grunt to catch her attention. She reminded him a little of a nervous squirrel snatching a peanut as she came forward with a cagey glance to inspect the item. Then she hummed, found her size, and threw it unceremoniously into the cart.

“Okay, done here,” she said quickly, a rosy tinge spreading across her face as she hastily pushed her cart along.

“So can we get—”

She shut him down before he could finish, giving him a blunt, “No.”

Taken aback by the orderly tone last used on him by his mother, he could only stare in a stupor as she moseyed away. His brow knit and his fists balled up and he skulked after her, reminding himself inwardly that just because he was complying didn’t mean he was any less the boss here. He would have given her a piece of his mind, but she pointedly stayed far ahead of him.

If only she knew how much the stolen power cell locked in his van was worth, she might be more eager to checkout – but that information was best kept to himself if possible or else she might haggle a cut of the profit out of him.

The evasive new subordinate had filled her cart with the addition of a couple rugs, a new bedspread, better pillow, some hygiene products, and a small assortment of makeup by the time Dr. Drakken caught up to her huffing candles with a contented smile. He tried again to confront her, but again she stole his thunder, this time by thrusting a jar at his face.

“This is nice,” she claimed. “Summer Bloom.”

Whatever the hell _Summer Bloom_ was, it burned not just his nose, but his eyes too, and he jumped back, coughing. “Are you quite finished?” he groused, waving away the scent until it dissipated from his sinuses.

She selected another fragrance to sniff, but this time kept it to herself. “Didn’t ask you to stalk me,” she reminded simply, and deposited the lavender candle in her cart next to the vanilla scented.

Dr. Drakken harrumphed, but she was pushing on again before he could press the subject of _leaving._

“Groceries,” she said pointedly with a nod back toward the far half of the store.

That much was hard to argue. He could only stare in exasperation at her back before hanging his head with a groan of defeat and trudging on. He would have contested if allowing her to continuously sneak down to the mess hall wasn’t begging for trouble. He’d already seen for himself just yesterday henchmen following her just a little too close for comfort. He’d warned her to stay on the top floor for a reason, and he’d be more apt to worry if he doubted her self-defense capability.

Between pinching the power cell and her little Smarty Mart spending-spree, she’d been pulled out the slump she’d been in since departing from Go City – for the most part anyway. Additions to her wardrobe, puffy blankets, and coverings for her floor and walls pacified her for a short time, along with a few comfort foods in _his_ refrigerator strictly designated hers and hers alone which he was not to touch under any circumstances or else there would be consequences.

Her warning and finger jabbed in his chest was nothing short of resource guarding, and he had to swear he wanted no part of her fancy Greek yogurt and sparkling water.

As long as the newest addition to the crew was kept busy, she was just placid enough to coexist with. Problem was, Dr. Drakken didn’t have much for her to do at present other than sit around and look pretty, which she must have been opposed to given her downtime was spent ungracefully slouched and slumped and hung over any available surface. Meanwhile, her _active_ time meant practicing a workout routine in his lab, as the gym was out of bounds, which made focusing on filling a weaponry order a chore in itself as each pushup she did out of sheer boredom reminded him of his own sorely neglected regimen. And if not lounging or exercising, she was perched nearby, watching him, asking the occasional question and taking some twisted delight in seeing how far over his shoulder she could lean before being breathed on got to him and he ordered her to go monitor surveillance.

Within a week of her arrival, it was decided that for the sake of all, she was best kept occupied and at arm’s length at the very least.

Friday, the idle assistant had found a seat on his desk as he wrapped up the week with some office work. She lacked the good grace to perch modestly on the edge, choosing to sit fully on it, cross-legged and taking up as much space as she damn well pleased as she read a tome off his shelves that he doubted she understood. Worse yet, she’d found strawberry hard candies in his desk drawers and had helped herself, so was audibly sucking away at bonbons and crinkling wrappers for hours.

Why he let it slide was anyone’s guess.

She didn’t look up to the henchmen as they each came for their paychecks and left with brutish grunts, though each and every last one of them took a gander at her. One must have had the cheek to make the mistake of looking at her the wrong way or for too long, because the tome she read from was suddenly snapped shut right in the man’s face, the thunderous clap startling everyone else in the room and leaving ears ringing.

He let that slide too. Disputes among the crew were usually settled without him stepping in anyway.

Sometime after the last henchman left, when Dr. Drakken finally rose from his seat and stretched, the young woman looked up to him curiously and wondered, “You don’t get out much, do you?”

No amount of determination not to grant her an answer could keep his mouth shut. “I go to the bar sometimes,” he jeered, flaunting his legal freedom to do so though it had been some months.

Somehow, she must have seen through his bluff. She rolled her eyes and hopped off the desk. “You are such a shut-in.” And with that, she produced a set of keys and gave them a swing around her finger, leaving him to gawp at her and pat his pockets.

“When did you—?”

“Come on, chief,” she crooned impishly as she backed away toward the stairwell, giving his keys a jingle as if coaxing a pet to play. “It’s Friday night. Take a break. We could go graffiti something or sneak into the movies or _something.”_

He followed, but only in an attempt to reclaim his property. “I’m perfectly happy spending my Friday nights in—”

“I call bull,” she scoffed, spinning around and trotting up the stairs. “But whatever floats your boat.”

Henchmen dismissed for the weekend, there was no one to radio for aid. He wasn’t sure he wanted them seeing the new recruit getting away with such insubordination anyway.

In the lab, he caught up with her, and she willingly surrendered his keys, but not without nodding pointedly to his work station. “C’mon, Doc. You’ve been plugging away at those electric baton things for days,” she said. “The fresh air will clear your head.”

Just looking at the unfinished order made him grimace. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes and scrubbed his face and groaned. _“Rent_ a movie,” he haggled.

She scoffed. “Get a life. _Cinema.”_

“I’m the boss,” he grunted. “What I say goes.”

“Arm wrestle for it?”

He’d yet to shake the image of her tearing through chain link fencing. “No, thank you. I want to keep my arms attached,” he grumbled, and was shoved roughly enough that he stumbled. The girl snorted a laugh and sauntered on ahead. It was a damn good thing no hired muscle was around to witness him _literally_ pushed around by the new recruit.

Still, he let it slide.

“It’s a start,” was all she had to say when she accepted his final offer of a rental and takeout. Though he elected not to join her for _Carrie,_ she seemed content enough by the fact they still had to leave the premises to fetch the essentials.

A quarter till midnight, Dr. Drakken all but kicked in his apartment door, storming into his living room as the girl who’d crashed out on his couch jolted upright. She checked her hands and snuffed out her glow in her armpits as he ordered brusquely, “Pack an overnight bag and meet me in the garage in fifteen.” A wave to the door signaled her to get a move on it, and the flustered girl ducked out without question.

The decision it was time for another assignment was made the second he got wind of a troubling development. Ordinarily, a handful of expendable grunts would be loaded into the van and sent away to do his dirty work, but it couldn’t wait until Monday or for the on-call to assemble. In any case, it was something for the newcomer to do.

Hero discipline had her in the garage within ten minutes. Though not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she was fully dressed in her specialized uniform with her go-bag slung over her shoulder on the off chance the expedition took longer than necessary. She threw it into the back with his duffel bag and asked where the fire was.

Dr. Drakken was reluctant to admit just yet that his reasons may be petty, so he kept his mouth shut on the details, and explained only that they were destined for the southern coast of California – which meant another tedious road trip, which had her _begging_ to let her stir up a high-speed chase. Unsure whether or not she was only messing with him, Dr. Drakken had no choice but to drive the whole way himself, as there was no chance the chugging old utility van could outrun the cops. He held his ground that she not derail the operation.

It took a while and smoothie to silence her, but she eventually resigned herself to sitting quietly. Since her arrival last weekend, she’d been something of an insomniac, not unlike himself. Dr. Drakken gathered it wasn’t normal for her though, given how much she grumbled about restlessness and withdrawals in the dead of the night when she hovered in his lab or he caught her sulking in his kitchen. It had been surprising enough that she’d dozed off on the couch, and even more so when she slept through the night in the passenger seat, snoozing the ride away.

With her eyes shut, it was safe to let his wander over to the young woman clad in her harlequin gear, which she seemed determined to never be without outside of necessity. He’d begun to wonder what was so special about it, but hadn’t asked. Sentimental perhaps, but that he was doubtful given how adamant she’d been about leaving her hero life behind.

Since finding the article in _The Examiner_ of the missing hero and grisly hospitalization of her team leader, Dr. Drakken was more apt to believe the young woman he’d enlisted had honestly forsaken her old ways, and wasn’t just flagrantly flaunting the suit and alias as a symbol of her kinship to mock him for letting her infiltrate his lair so easily. There had to be some secret to her uniform.

He made a mental note to someday get a hold of it to analyze it. Or maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just ask? Glancing to the gloves concealing Shego’s weapons of choice, he grimaced. With hands like hers, no matter how politely he put it, something as audacious as, _“May I inspect your clothes for a bit?” _might actually hurt.

He had time to consider how he else might broach the subject. He had the whole trip. And then however long it would take to work up the nerve to either ask or steal the gear from her outright.

By the completion of her assignment, however, he discovered her uniform may not hold any great secrets after all – which was something of a letdown for combat gear produced by the world’s largest leading underground hero organization. There were no hidden gadgets like automated energy fields to shield her, and the material’s durability left something to be desired, though it still acted as armor just shy of impenetrable which was still far better than his henchmen’s simple denim.

Although the former hero succeeded in her task of infiltrating his rival’s California bay base and demolishing a seismic generator prototype, she fled back to the getaway van heaving for breath and clutching her ribs. The video feed had gone offline, but a round of gunfire assaulted his ears over the headset, and her caterwaul punctuated the moment she’d been struck. He didn’t need to rely on the feed as he watched his rival’s base collapse as the dark figure responsible dashed across a field and ducked into the cover of a culvert.

“The bastard _shot_ me!” the livid woman announced a minute later as she threw herself in through the side door. She slammed it shut as Dr. Drakken floored it, and he threw a bewildered glance over his shoulder as she plopped down in the back.

A light smear of blood stained the front of her uniform, bright red and glistening as it streaked down her to her belt. He had to tear his wide-eyed stare away as she unzipped to tend to herself, but the rearview mirror didn’t hide his view of her picking a flattened bullet lodged just beneath her skin and simply flicking it away in disgust as if it were just a speck of crud.

Aside from the bloody smudges and steady ooze, he caught an inadvertent glimpse of discoloration sprawled across her abdomen, which he doubted had anything to do with the small bullet wound. It raised concern too of course, but he wasn’t about to pry into when she’d sustained the bruising, though he couldn’t shake the concern the henchmen may have roughed her up.

Shego groaned irritably. “I thought you said short stuff was too high-horse to stoop that low?” she griped.

He’d never said that. He’d only explained his former associate had a leg up in the villain field. If she’d underestimated his affinity for weapons, then that was on her. How was _he_ to know Dementor would resort to using such a rudimentary weapon like a firearm anyway?

Dr. Drakken tried not to grimace any deeper as he grabbed a handful of napkins from the console to pass back to her. Her injury couldn’t have been too severe if she could pick out the projectile with her fingernails, but it certainly bled plenty, as wounds tended to do.

“You’ve been shot before?” he wondered, trying not to sound too curious. Her heated glare burned on the back of his head, and he tried not to spare her another glance through the rearview mirror.

_“Sort of?”_ she hissed out through grit teeth. “Shrapnel and rays and energy blasts, yeah – but not—” She growled in frustration or pain or both and slammed a fist on the wall. “Not one of the perks. I’m surprised none of us have been popped in the head yet,” she groused, firing a finger gun at her own temple for emphasis. “That would’ve gotten rid of us quicker, but most villains have _class. _That little shithead played dirty.”

“Villains don’t always play by the book.” Surely she knew that.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, and mumbled a pained curse under her breath.

Zipping back up wasn’t a priority as she relocated to the passenger seat, compressing wadded napkins to the injury despite the potentially broken ribs. The girl blushed furiously, just shy of indecent with her top pulled shut best she could to cover up, and Dr. Drakken had the courtesy not to stare as she tried shaking her hair to the front for good measure.

“You don’t need a doctor, do you?” he asked, already keeping his eye out for a blue hospital sign. “Because I’m not that kind of doctor.” Not licensed, anyway.

“I’ll be fine. Used to crap like this.” She grimaced at _the thorn in her side_ nonetheless. Drakken raised his brow and almost glanced at her, but thought better. She laughed through grit teeth, “But if I ever need an ugly stitch to match yours, I’ll hit you up.”

Although her specialized suit wasn’t flawlessly indestructible or entirely bullet-proof, and she clearly wasn’t either by any means, it was reassuring that she was such a trooper. A subordinate who could tough it out was hard to come by. Dr. Drakken was willing to hold her in just a little higher regard, because although she wasn’t in a fantastic mood, she wasn’t really complaining either. She demanded a stop at a pharmacy, but that was it.

They barely spoke on the return trip. In fact, they hadn’t said a word since the pharmacy. It wasn’t until they crossed the state line into Nevada that Shego threw her shoplifted magazine down to the floorboard and let out a dreary huff.

“You’re swerving a lot, Drakken,” she noted.

He grunted dismissively. “It’s the potholes,” he blamed, but his jaded passenger didn’t buy it.

She sat up straight to stretch herself out, only to wince and reach for her sore ribs. “Maybe I should drive,” she suggested, though her tone suggested she was more bored than concerned.

“So you can play cat and mouse with highway patrol? I don’t think so,” Drakken grunted, earning a harmless thump on the shoulder.

“Pull over. You haven’t had any rest since – since _I don’t even know,”_ Shego noted sharply. “Your bags are baggier than normal.”

Though she had a point, Drakken scoffed, steeling his resolve not to let himself be bullied into compliance again even if his eyes stung with exhaustion. _He_ didn’t even know when he’d last had any rest. Still, he grumbled, “You haven’t known me long enough to know my normal. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

She upped her insult game. “It’s making you ugly.” Tried to, at least.

“Oh, I wasn’t before? How sweet.”

There was a _click_ as she removed her seatbelt. Before he knew it, she was removing his too.

She was decidedly insane.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he barked, nearly swerving into the guardrail as she wedged herself between him and the wheel. She weighed more than he would have imagined. Pushing 75 down the highway made it all the more uncomfortable, and try as he might to stave it off, his face burned as he shook her fluffy hair away to peek frantically over her shoulder. “This is _dangerous,_ Shego!” he sputtered. “Get off!”

“Don’t like it, move over,” she suggested curtly. “The _assistant_ thinks you need some assistance. What’s the point of hiring me if you don’t let me help? Dumbass.”

Again she had a point, not that he was eager to admit it, but at this point Drakken was quick to decide his safest bet was to forfeit control of the wheel and pedals before they could wreck. It was an awkward change of hands if there ever was one as he clumsily retreated to the passenger seat.

From his new spot, he glared harshly across at her as she settled in as if she hadn’t damn near caused a pileup on the highway. But despite her own weary glare at the road, he caught her lips twitch with a satisfied little smile, evidently quite pleased with her means of persuasion.

Drakken harrumphed. “You win this time,” he grumbled crossly as he slumped back and buckled up. He was more awake now than before with that maniac at the wheel.

“Sweet dreams, Dr. D,” she crooned with mock sweetness.

The switch may have been against his will, and frankly _terrifying,_ and Drakken may have been sour for having his position stolen so easily, but her insubordination did grant him some respite. By some miracle, despite now knowing what a reckless driver the newcomer could be, he still managed to catch his forty winks.

It was the loud clanging of the garage door shutting that awoke him later that evening, and he sent silent thanks upward that the unruly recruit hadn’t lead a car chase to his doorstep while he was out for the count.

She didn’t wait up for him, hurrying off into the lair while he was still sluggish with sleep and rubbing his eyes. The wounded superhuman made herself scarce, hiding herself away for the rest of the evening and delaying Drakken’s chances of getting his hands on her gear. The alone time gave him a chance to rehearse at least.

Late evening had rolled around by the time she reappeared, inviting herself into his living quarters as though she owned the place. Her hair was damp and she carried a new tropical aroma with her as opposed to the earlier scents of blood, sweat, and smoke. Drakken couldn’t help noticing that even her uniform had been thoroughly cleaned, the minuscule bullet hole mended and indiscernible.

“Ah! Girl,” Dr. Drakken greeted as she sauntered past him and into his kitchen. He sat at the island on a stool, having been focused on a crossword puzzle in the local newspaper while he’d waited to catch her sneaking in for a snack.

“I have a _name,”_ droned the young woman as she helped herself to his fridge for a can of his root beer, skipping over the sparkling water she’d made such a fuss about the other day. “Shego. Say it with me. _She. Go.”_

Drakken rolled his eyes and pushed his crossword aside. “Let’s get down to business, _Shego,”_ he drawled, and gestured for her to take the barstool across the counter from him. She paused and stared for a long moment before warily obliging, watching him exchange his glasses in favor of donning a set of geeky goggles with multiple lenses to toggle. “Remove your gloves,” he requested flatly. He’d been practicing the command for the past hour now, but he still barely managed to get it out with confidence.

“Excuse me?”

“Let me see your gloves,” Dr. Drakken reiterated, and fidgeted with the adjustments of his goggles as he waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember! If you like what you read, show your support by dropping a comment!  
It would mean so much, please and thank you.


	5. Enabler – 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which Drakken is a purveyor of human suffering and Shego is a bad apple. owo

Shego couldn’t help scrutinizing the twitchy man as he pulled out a small leather-bound notebook from under his newspaper and flipped it open to a blank page. He held out an expectant hand, but she just stared at it suspiciously, her glower asking a question she didn’t have to say out loud, which he read even with his dorky magnifying goggles on.

“You’re getting an upgrade,” he claimed. It did little to alleviate her suspicions.

She was reluctant to humor him, but offered up a single glove nonetheless and watched him carefully. The curious man examined the meager article of clothing, looking it over inside and out. He hem-hawed.

From a distance, there was nothing unusual about her gloves – they were just gloves. She’d been heckled by villains before that they looked like dishwashing gloves. Shego knew her own gear well though, and knew they were more than what met the eye, as Dr. Drakken was surely finding out now as he studied the clusters of pin-holes dotting the hefty fabric, the palms and fingers laced with tiny eyelets. At a glance, the pattern might appear to be for grip, but Drakken wasn’t so quick to dismiss them.

“These holes, they’re for…breathability?” he guessed.

_“Doy,”_ was as eloquent a confirmation as he was going to get. He was too distracted to snip at her for the attitude though, and her guard slowly lowered as she studied him. The thought of an upgrade was both tempting and laughable, but she wasn’t laughing. “The gloves hold me back. I don’t even know why I bother with them,” she admitted.

Demonstrating on impulse, she held both hands over the countertop, palm up, and watched as Dr. Drakken flinched back when they flared with her bubbling green plasma. The glow radiating from her covered hand was noticeably dampened, _physically_ rather than drug-induced, by restricting the amount that could escape.

She wasn’t proud as she explained, “GJ designed them to keep me from going overboard on the firepower. I got carried away sometimes. So they did everything they could to keep me dialed back without making me useless to them.” She shrugged meekly. Even without full power, she could serve a hell of a sucker punch and leave second-degree burns, though the whole point of being a hero was to help more than harm.

“I see,” muttered Drakken.

He relaxed when she snuffed out her glow and pulled her hands out of sight behind the counter, tucked safely between her knees.

The blue man began jotting down notes on the pad. “Your hands still need protection though, so an upgrade is in order. These are getting worn out anyway.” He tapped his pen on his chin, humming. “Subduing you won’t do. I’d rather amplify this glow of yours if possible.” When he caught a glimpse of her piqued interest, he smirked. “I’m sure I can find something to conduct it.”

Fixing her face with mask of indifference, she refused comment. As the blue man sketched and scribbled nonsense across two pages of his notebook, Shego began to shift uncomfortably across from him. She sipped her soda, unsure if she was free to go yet. After a couple minutes, she was about to slip off the barstool and leave him with the glove, but he spoke up again.

“Can you produce this energy from anywhere else?” he wondered without lifting his attention from the notebook.

That was an invasive question if she’d ever heard one.

Shego narrowed her eyes at him, leery once more. The deep-rooted fear of becoming a lab rat and subjected to studies reared its ugly head, but she beat it back. This guy had been bullied out of the driver’s seat earlier and could be pressured doing her bidding with stupid threats like breaking the seals on his hoard of pickles if he didn’t drive her to Cow-n-Chow. So if he thought he could turn her into a test subject, he had another thing coming.

In any case, if she was hoping to make anything of this stint with the rogue doctor, then complying could work in her favor. Especially if he was willing to engineer custom gear for her.

She swore she’d spat fire at him before, a long time ago, but she couldn’t be sure. She was tempted to try coughing up plasma-laced phlegm to see if that would jog his memory or at least answer his question, but she resisted. If nothing else, the spoken truth would have to serve as a warning that her fists weren’t her only weapons.

“I _can,”_ she said vaguely, and held out her bare hand again to show him her palm, sans glow. “My hands are just convenient.” Channeling the energy to her hands was second nature to her now, and over the years they had become the only area completely desensitized to the _fire_ aspects. Although she still had all her nerves intact, and she still felt it when he reached out for her hand. She fought the impulse to jerk it back as she let him have a closer look, unsure what he expected to find.

His mouth twisted into a frown as he inspected her smooth fingertips and palms, much more interested in the faint old scars and lack of identifying fingerprints than her freshly-painted nails. “Does it hurt?” he ventured. “The glow, I mean.”

She was becoming increasingly aware how rough his hands really were in comparison.

Shego shrugged. _“Used to._ Now it kinda just tingles. But I mean, the first time it happened – that was _yow.”_ She laughed a little nervously at the recollection of blacking out from searing pain and the bandages she’d worn for some time afterwards. Discovering _her_ power in a hospital ward in Global Justice’s custody wasn’t a fond childhood memory. “It took time for my body to adapt, but I got used to it.”

The rogue doctor gave another thoughtful hum. “How did you even acquire this glow?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Her smile was brittle and crumbled away even as she quipped, “Y’know, you’d know all of this if you’d stopped to read my file.” She otherwise refused to answer.

The geeky man must have realized by now that she wasn’t so open to talking about it, because he mumbled a sheepish apology for prying and released her hand he’d probably only just realized as well that he’d hung onto for way too long. He quickly shifted his attention away in favor of her glove and the notebook.

It was another moment before Shego spoke again. “So, you’re gonna upgrade my gloves?” she asked carefully, and when he nodded, she willingly forfeited the other. Folding her arms over the counter, she leaned forward and chewed on her lip as she watched him compare them briefly for any differences beyond color.

Shego couldn’t help smirking. “You could have just asked for the specs,” she snickered lightly, and tapped on the notebook where he was brainstorming some gibberish in the tiny illegible scrawl of a doctor. She hummed wistfully after another moment, musing, “I used to think it would be totally rad to have, like…claws. But it didn’t fly with big brother.”

_“Claws,”_ Drakken echoed in disbelief, looking back up at her finally. “Isn’t that…I don’t know, a little tacky?”

“Says you. Those goggles and that polo shirt? _Yeesh.”_

Drakken grunted. His face was tinged with a funny shade of purple. “You want claws, I’ll make you claws,” he sighed agreeably.

“Seriously?” She considered telling him it was a joke, but was curious now if he’d deliver. A smirk quirked her lips. The whole thing was probably a huge waste of his time, but it might be fun to see how much of his time she could waste.

_“Sure,”_ he groaned, and removed the magnifying goggles to rub his eyes and push his usual glasses back on.

As the man squinted down at his notebook, Shego caught herself staring, inwardly musing that he might be more intimidating without his nerdy spectacles – but that was only logical. The small accessory advertised a form of weakness, however trivial and necessary, which wasn’t conducive to aspirations of being feared and respected. “You should lose the glasses,” she announced flippantly, and acted before she could think twice about snatching them off his face.

_“Excuse you!”_ he barked, reaching across the counter for them, but she held them out of range. “I _need_ those. They aren’t a toy.”

“I’m tellin’ ya,” she twittered as she inspected the snatched eyeglasses and then him. “You’d look badass without them. It shows off your scar better.” As she slipped them on herself, she wondered inwardly if it was the same warped and clouded vision he experienced without them. She peeked over the rim at him squinting peevishly at her.

“I’d say you look cute, but I can’t be sure,” retorted Dr. Drakken dryly, as if it were meant to be offensive. “Unfortunately, I still need them, so fork them over.” He held out a hand, fingers beckoning for the return of his glasses.

She obliged reluctantly, and he finished a couple more notes before peering back up at her, his inquiring gaze lingering a little too long for comfort while she sipped on root beer. “How long have you been like this, anyway? How did it happen?” he wondered, though it felt more like idle chitchat now. She almost answered until he added, “Team Go sprang up just a few years ago and it was short lived, but—”

Guard shooting back up, Shego snatched her gloves back and fixed the startled man in a heated glare. “Where you snooping?” she accused, paranoia rising.

“Easy, Shego, easy. I wasn’t snooping,” Dr. Drakken defended calmly, hands up in peace. “It was on the news. I’m entitled to watch the news.”

It took a long moment balancing on the precipice of distrust before she backed away from that ledge. He had a point there. She couldn’t hold it against him, no matter how much she detested the thought of him knowing anymore about her than she was willing to share herself. It was information the general populace of Go City already knew anyway.

Shego set the gloves back down and breathed deep, but still didn’t answer his question.

Thankfully, Dr. Drakken didn’t press it. “I was only making small talk,” he muttered, and it seemed he was ready to drop the subject altogether now because he was tucking his notebook into the pocket of his trousers and circling around the kitchen island to rummage around in the freezer.

Shego relaxed slightly, sitting back down and swiveling in her barstool to watch his back and sip her soda as the quiet blue man tasked himself with preparing a TV dinner. Looking to the favored frying pan gathering dust up on the wall with all the others, she wondered when he’d last cooked a real meal for himself. Not that she was about to do it for him.

Watching him ignore her, she considered a bargain long and hard before she finally spoke up again. “I’ll tell you,” she called over. It wasn’t like that information hadn’t already been leaked anyway. Nonetheless, Drakken glanced over his shoulder inquisitively. _“If_ you tell me what your deal is with the all the blue.” And if he tried to tell her it was because he _had the blues,_ so help him, she might just hit him with plasma.

He turned to face her fully and just stared curiously for a moment. “You want to know why I’m blue?” he asked dumbly, as if no one had ever asked the obvious before.

She gave a halfhearted shrug in confirmation.

The man leaned back on the counter and frowned, rubbing his neck as if the subject was a sore spot, but he chewed it over and took a deep breath before giving her the gist of it. “Classic tale of an experiment gone wrong,” he said with a moody huff. “It wasn’t even _mine. _I was an intern at a research lab owned by some big shot, Gemini. Some damn top-secret experiment malfunctioned, I got caught in the crossfire, and there you have it. I’ve been reduced to just _the blue freak_ ever since.”

“Gemini?” Shego uttered, blinking at him. Hearing _that_ familiar name shouldn’t have been so surprising. Still, it was unexpected. She tilted her head questioningly. “Did he have a personal vendetta against the director of Global Justice?”

“Bingo.” He shot a finger gun at her. “How many Gemini do you think there are?”

Shego eyed him suspiciously for another moment, until the man began to shift uncomfortably. She racked her brains, connecting the dots, and took a wild guess as to the picture it formed. “You don’t happen to have superstrength, do you?” she asked with a small incredulous laugh, but Dr. Drakken only gave her a funny look. She took that as a negative. “Do you know what he was trying to do?”

The man’s brow furrowed at her, as if he was the one ill at ease now. Good. “Not a clue,” he said slowly. “It wasn’t my post. Why?”

She only smirked and waved dismissively. “Nothing.” She didn’t need any more details anyway to convince her that the whacked-out twin brother of Global Justice’s head honcho had been trying to recreate Team Go. Had Gemini ever succeeded, she was sure she’d have known about it.

Dr. Drakken made a pleading sort of whine and tapped a foot irritably, and he didn’t need words to convey he was displeased that she clearly knew something about his condition that he didn’t.

She denied an explanation though, instead scoffing to herself and shaking her head in amazement. She might share her suspicions later, if she was feeling nice. “Small world, that’s all,” she mumbled.

“Indeed,” grumbled Dr. Drakken. He spun around and slumped over the counter to watch the microwave, as if there was really something of interest was going on in there. “Your turn, Shego.”

But Shego smirked wryly, leaning back on the counter and crossing her legs, giving her foot a bounce. “I said I’d tell you. I never said _when_ I’d tell you,” she teased.

Drakken groaned. “Of course.” He hung his weary head, though it was counterproductive in trying to rake his hair back as he ran his hand through it. He waved dismissively at her, ordering, “Be gone, then. Dementor is bound to want payback, so go watch the surveillance or something.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” she said, hopping off her barstool and leaving her gloves and a smashed soda can behind. She had more engaging company to track down.

Shego had to mindfully keep her pace in check until she was out of Dr. Drakken’s personal living quarters, and from there she all but skipped through his workshop and down the twisting flight of stairs. She didn’t even pause to check the surveillance feed, taking the shortcut through the office to hit up the rec room in henchmen’s forbidden domain.

She’d found a routine over the course of the first week, the scenario quickly becoming part of her daily ritual. Dr. Drakken would unwittingly put her on surveillance watch, and while he was busy tinkering in his lab or vanished into the depths of the lair, Shego might order some pushover henchman to the CCTV desk in her place while she occupied herself with the rest.

They were all threatened to keep her prohibited visits on the down low, though she sensed threats of knuckle sandwiches weren’t what kept them quiet. More likely, the thugs just didn’t want her ban being reinforced. She was fine with that, to an extent.

It was unfortunate she wouldn’t have the enjoyment of breaking the tantalizing rule of _don’t mingle with the henchmen_ for much longer. By day, she made it her business in the lab to annoy Dr. Drakken at regular intervals with trivial things like mocking how creepily engrossed he’d become over a stupid pair of gloves, or by refusing to budge from his cushioned computer chair when she was ordered to come test the effectiveness of new adjustments. He would be sick of her by evening and tell her off, usually shooing her down to the office, when she could slack off and go join the guys.

Eventually, she was caught red-handed.

**++X++**

The special order had been a welcomed distraction from the monotony of constructing power staves of a short life expectancy and shorter warranty for a villainous client. After several days of several scrapped prototypes to give him grief, Dr. Drakken at last finalized what he hoped would the last set of custom gloves he slaved over for a while.

Just as he applied the finishing touches, _something missing_ began to nag at him. He poured over a mental checklist and looked over the new-and-improved gear, but that wasn’t it.

He was ready to proudly present the polished product of his handiwork when he discovered he was alone.

Which shouldn’t have been so damn disheartening.

Over the past couple weeks, he’d begun to get used to not being the only soul in the lab, whether he liked it or not. If it weren’t for the aloof subordinate’s nitpicking or devotion to being a nuisance, he might say he enjoyed the company, even if she wasn’t much for conversation. There was something relieving about having someone other than himself to divulge his process to at least, even if it did go in one ear and out the other with an occasional scoff or snarky remark he had to decipher as feedback.

So when Drakken turned around to call for her, the name died on the way out as he scanned the hollow cavern of his lab. He pulled back his sleeve to check his watch, brow furrowing. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he couldn’t recall dismissing her. The subordinate wasn’t duty-bound to stay by his side though, so he shook off the undue disappointment.

He checked his living quarters, expecting to find her scrounging up a lunch in his kitchen or lounging on his couch watching television. When he didn’t find her there, he prowled across the lair to her bedroom and rapped on the door, ready snip at her if he found she was napping, but he received no response. Boss or not, he grudgingly accepted the potential for repercussion if he were to invade the volatile woman’s privacy by simply opening her door to steal a peek.

His next course of action was to stalk down the hall and to his office to scan the surveillance feed in hopes of pinpointing where the elusive woman had strayed off to.

When he did find her, he was none too pleased with _where._

Skipping the intercom, he set off at once, winding deep into the lair, to order her back to the lab in person. It was good to show his face to rest of his subordinates once in a while anyway – to at least remind _them_ who the boss was around here.

Drakken stepped out on the catwalk that ran through a spacious man-made cavern serving as the gym, and glared harshly down at the scene below him. His frown quickly dissolved as he stared, puzzled.

For a minute, Dr. Drakken wasn’t sure if he was watching interpretive dance or a genuine quarrel among the four involved below. The swings and kicks of the henchmen held a very real force behind them, but the former superhero ducked and dodged with fluid movements and feline grace. She must have had the situation under control, because when she held up her hands to signal for a timeout, the men froze and allowed her to go along physically manipulating stances and chiding them before they resumed at her goading – or order? – to come at her like they meant it.

By the bruises and welts blemishing their faces, Drakken surmised that this wasn’t the first time they’d had such a session, but what began as a sparring exercise escalated as the men became increasingly frustrated with the newcomer continuously besting them. Drakken watched as their demeanor began to slowly change as their tempers rose, and he gripped the guard rail as he waited with baited breath for some sign it was time to intervene.

In a maneuver that made Drakken wince, he watched as Shego dove at one goon and flipped him over, pulling a backbend to slam the brute on his head. She proceeded to bounce away in time to evade another henchman charging at her with his fists flying. She laughed meanly as he stumbled over his fallen comrade, and she turned to try catching the third to attempt the move again, perhaps to test if the bumbling idiots would fall for the same trick twice. This one had wizened up and avoided her hold, but while she was dodging his punches and kicks, she managed to slip behind him, and even Drakken was surprised when she seized him by his belt and wife-beater, hoisting the thug clear over her head to toss him into another.

Even without her glow to aid her, she was stronger than she looked. She must have a touch of superhuman strength too, Drakken decided as he studied the woman jeering as his men, coaxing them onto their feet to attack her again. The sparring carried on for a few more minutes, the newcomer smiling and laughing in delight every time she got the better of the henchmen she toyed with.

Shego was rather enjoying herself. The henchmen, not so much.

And strange as it was, Drakken might have been enjoying it a little bit too, because he folded his arms on the rail to loiter, watching the show with profound interest. True, there was some shame seeing his men defeated with such ease, but he still smirked at the flicker of glee to have someone better than them on his team.

Some minutes later, two men still left standing managed to get the best of her. While one distracted her, the other swept a leg under her heels from behind, her reaction time just an instant too slow. As she fell back with a startled yelp, the men closed in, one of them snatching her arms so she couldn’t catch herself and bounce back up, and the other grappled for her ankles. Her smile was replaced with a disgusted sneer. Shego’s amusement had vanished as they fought to pin her down while she writhed and gnashed her teeth at them as she swore orders to let her go.

One henchman on the sideline nursing a black eye shouted at the active players to watch out for her hands, but the fools didn’t heed his warning as they scrapped with her on the floor.

Drakken couldn’t _believe_ their impudence as the henchmen’s objective became crystal clear. One kept a secure grip on her wrists and the other fought past her thrashing legs to her belt. She was clearly not enjoying the roughhousing anymore as she spat a final warning at them to back off or else. Orbs of plasma were charging up in her hands when Drakken whistled sharply for attention.

Everything halted, if only for a split second.

The startled men released her and backed off abruptly when they finally realized they were being watched, and Shego hastily leapt to her feet, stumbling as she whirled on the men to discharge her plasma blasts at them as they scrambled out of the way. By the shouts of alarm, the two oafs having a go at her hadn’t known about her superhuman gifts.

The livid young woman turned her back to all, her head down and mane of hair sparing her from having to look at anyone for a moment while she fixed her belt and checked her zippers. She took a moment to calm own, heaving and visibly reigning herself in as she flexed her fingers, glow flickering erratically until it ceased.

She didn’t thank Dr. Drakken for the intervention, oh no. Instead she glared at him up on the bridge above, her lips pulled back over her teeth in displeasure as if _he_ were the one in the wrong here. “I didn’t need you calling off your dogs!” she snapped indignantly up at him. She spat in their direction for good measure as she retreated up the staircase to join him, the steel rattling with each hasty stomp.

“Oh, I know you could destroy them if you wanted,” Dr. Drakken said airily, hoping to let it go for the moment. Though it did give him an idea for cruel and unusual punishment. He glared down to the henchmen returning to their exercises, but they didn’t look terribly shamefaced for attempting to assault the new recruit. Something about the grins the two instigators exchanged was enough for Drakken to go with his gut and write them off.

“Don’t disappear on me,” Drakken called to the newcomer’s back as she made for the exit ahead of him. “I need you in the lab.”

“Whatever,” she snorted.

Drakken almost snipped at her to watch her tone when speaking to him, but thought better of it.

On the way back to the upper level, the woman slowed her stomp. She combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed down her uniform, and double-checked her belt to be sure everything was in perfect order. Finally she threw a glare over to Dr. Drakken as they entered his office, and he knew the elephant in the room hadn’t disappeared just because they’d left the henchmen back in the gym.

“Here’s the deal, Doc,” she ground out bitterly. “If you wanna keep me around, you’ll get rid of them.”

He blinked over at the tense scowling woman stalking alongside him. He might have already planned their dismissal on impulse, but the subordinate’s command still surprised him and elicited an obstinate reaction. “What makes you think you’re more valuable than them?” he retorted in reflex, not especially happy to be bossed around to such degree.

Shego scoffed. “Because they’re a bunch of Henchschool dropouts and have to tag team for more than an hour just to wear me out enough to knock me down,” she answered, following him up the stairwell. “I’m not working with sex offenders that are gonna try pulling some sleazy shit on me. That goes for you too.”

“Understandable,” Drakken grudgingly grumbled, and he _swore_ he could feel the daggers gouging into the back of his head. He’d have to brush up on everyone’s records. “Whatever happened to them being a bunch of pansies? I thought you _wanted_ to hang around hardened criminals and lowlifes.” If it had been an attempt to lighten the mood, he’d failed miserably, quickly realizing she didn’t find his teasing humorous when he peeked back.

The woman snorted again and sneered, “Not the kind that are gonna turn on me like animals.”

He shook his head, grimacing. “It comes with the territory, Shego. If you had stayed away from my men like you’ve been told, they wouldn’t be a problem,” he argued weakly, but suddenly she was a step above him, looking down at him as she poked him hard in the chest, her glare burning into him. She could push him down the stairwell to his demise if she wished. It was pretty steep, and he was suddenly all too aware he’d never had a handrail installed.

“It’s me or them, Dr. Drakken,” she seethed venomously. “This is nonnegotiable. I mean it. They go or I go. What’s it gonna be?”

Dr. Drakken held up his hands in peace. “Okay, _you,”_ he hastily agreed before he could overthink it. “I choose you. _Henchschool dropouts, _as you put them, are dime a dozen, but there’s only one of you. I’ll review staff tonight, if it makes you happy.”

_“Good,”_ Shego said arrogantly, and turned back up the stairs, leaving him to tug his collar and hope she hadn’t seen the sweat on his brow. “You know, if you didn’t have _that_ kind of criminal on your team, maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about them acting out of line.”

“What can I say? They’re cheap,” Drakken admitted unhappily behind her. “It was never an issue before.” It wasn’t like there was a foolproof way of weeding out such seedy fellows, but he wasn’t about to argue the matter here on the staircase, no matter how tall the order.

Shego peered back at him with a withering glance that told him she would be holding him to his word, but for now that was the end of the discussion.

**++X++**

Back up in the nerdy tech lab littered with scrap fabric and half-built staves, the rogue doctor wasted no time in handing over the new and improved pair of gloves.

The old pair from Global Justice was looking rather shabby in comparison, fiber frayed around the knuckles, and signs of wear around the palms as well. Shego was happy to toss them aside. Inwardly thrilled that the self-proclaimed mad scientist had actually come through for her, she kept a lid on her eagerness as she pulled on the brand new custom pair.

The new set looked slightly less like dishwashing gloves, with lightly padded knuckles, and sleek and slim-fitted over the fingers for dexterity. Seamlessly incorporated into the tough specialized fabric at the fingertips were the so-called claws she’d requested in jest and had tried to tell him so repeatedly. Though she was sure he’d added them to remind her to be careful what she wished for, she was still pleased by the surprisingly natural feel of the unobtrusive extensions.

More importantly, the hand protection didn’t hinder her glow at all – and most shockingly of all, her glow was indeed amplified to some degree, just as promised though she wasn’t even sure how he’d managed the feat. It only took one flare up to find out that much.

The new set of gloves fit like a dream to boot, but she knew that much from earlier prototypes. It was still something else to see it all come together in a finished product.

Depending how they held up, she might have to finagle more out of him.

Shego’s smile fell and she jumped when the blue man cleared his throat behind her. Wearing a strange sneer that almost passed as a smirk, he suggested she take the new gear out back to put them to the test. She hadn’t been outside in _days, _not even for a smoke break, and the thought of fresh air – along with releasing pent-up energy and getting a feel for what her new liberating gloves were capable of – was effective in bringing the smile back to her face.

She expected Dr. Drakken alone to accompany her. She was wrong.

He stopped before he could exit the lab with her, humming as a thoughtful look crossed his face, and turned back. She was told to wait outside for a surprise.

She wasn’t sure if she liked the prospect of a surprise, but she wasn’t kept waiting or guessing for long. As much as she itched to blast something while she waited, she resisted taking it out on the parched pines climbing up the slope beyond the expanse of blacktop wrapping around side of the oversized garage.

When he joined her, she was _sure_ she didn’t like the surprise, whatever it was. Not keen on being made an exhibition, it had her frozen with a sort of stage fright as his crew of henchmen marched out from the side-door of the garage after him. Approximately a dozen rugged men – she didn’t stare long enough to count – congregated, all in red jumpsuits. The masks that usually concealed the better half of their faces were removed, but the broken dress code was the least of Shego’s concerns.

Dr. Drakken came to stand beside her, giving her a wry smirk, and motioned for the gangliest of his crew. The youngest henchman scurried out hastily to set up a row of plywood dummies for target practice and retreated back to the audience just as quickly. The rogue doctor then gave Shego’s back a small push and curt words of encouragement, “Go on. Show them.”

Her fists balled at her sides. She wasn’t so sure about being put on display like this. She’d spent enough of her life being a spectacle.

The chief must have read her hesitation, because he frowned at her and then turned to address his crewmen with biting authority, pacing like a drill sergeant with hands gripped behind his back. “There seems to be some confusion lately. It seems some of you think our newest addition is a secretary, or here to be your plaything,” he barked at his crew, dripping with derision as he issued a warning. “Make no mistake. A lovely little thing she may be, Shego here _is_ your superior, and may God have mercy on the next man to lay a hand on her.”

The booming tone of his reproach was jarring compared to the softer indoor voice used whenever he wasn’t worked up or hollering across the lair. It surprised her for a second, but she reminded herself he was an aspiring villain after all, and most had to put on a mean show if they wanted to be taken seriously, especially by a bunch of thugs as underpaid henchmen tended to be.

“Flatterer,” she hissed under her breath. Her face was hot. It was an underhanded way of goading her on, even if _superior_ sounded nice. She took it with a grain of salt though.

Returning to her, Dr. Drakken narrowed his eyes and impatiently ground out through his teeth, “Hurry up and light some _fire_ under their asses, Shego. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her reservations aside, Shego swallowed and nodded despite the onlookers watching her back. As she had so often in Go City, she tried to pretend they weren’t there as she let her clenched fists ignite. Four throws was all it took to reduce four dummies to a mess of splinters and flaming debris. It was overkill. Without her medication and old gloves, it was too easy to overcharge the blows, but the gloves held up. She’d really have to practice discipline now, she realized.

Nonetheless, she took a deep steadying breath and stared in wonder at her own hands. Her lips quirked into a smile, which Dr. Drakken caught and mirrored tenfold.

The man got his grin under control as he came to stand perhaps a little too close and fearlessly considering he’d just watched her obliterate targets with ease. “Well?” he pressed, lowering his voice to keep it between them. “How’s it feel?”

It was a stupid question when the answer was written on her face already. Between the new liberating gloves and having prescribed suppressant out of her system, she felt glee bubble up and escape in a small laugh. _“Amazing,”_ she confirmed a little too happily. If she weren’t suddenly aware they were being watched by an audience, she just might have hugged the man for making such freedom possible – but she quickly locked that notion away. Such gratitude would be unbecoming of her now.

He was sidestepping away anyway, clearing his throat. He fixed the crew in a deep scowl. “Any questions?” he called out brusquely, but the crew remained silent. He stroked his chin as he paced along the row, and picked out two men from the crowd, beckoning them forward with a finger rather than by name. Either of the men could have flattened Drakken if they so wished, yet they humored him with hateful glares he appeared to willingly overlook.

Shego’s stomach lurched as she glared back at the loathsome men who’d made an attempt to rough her up mere minutes ago. Sure, she still burned with malice, but she couldn’t help flicking a disconcerted glance to the blue man presenting them to her as if they were gifts. Dr. Drakken’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he raised his brow expectantly as he nodded to them.

She had a hunch what was coming, but she was done. Demonstrating her capability on wooden dummies for the ignorant crew was enough. Still she had the gut-wrenching suspicion he had every intention of pushing it further. There was no reason to push it further, and yet—

And yet, Dr. Drakken was speaking loud and clear again. “Since they thought they could have their way with you, why don’t you return the favor and have your way with them, hm?”

Both humiliated and put on the spot, her skin crawled as she studied the grave mask of malevolence Dr. Drakken wore as he shoved the larger of the two men roughly toward where the incinerated targets had stood.

Shego stared at the new dummies standing rigid in their place. _Live_ dummies.

Even if they deserved a lashing and she had reason enough to bear a grudge against the men, she wasn’t sure about raising a hand to them as they were. She would have wailed on them in the gym minutes ago had Drakken not interrupted, but now they were just standing there among the cinders and ash, doing nothing more offensive than giving her ugly looks.

Shego glanced to Dr. Drakken again, waiting for him to laugh and say it was all a twisted joke, but the stoic man stood to the side with his hands behind his back, reminiscent of a bailiff watching men on trial.

She was frozen like a deer in the headlights, stunned with disbelief at what was expected of her and entirely unsure how to proceed with dishing out punishment. Her fists curled as she weighed how badly she wanted to see them hurt.

After another moment, Dr. Drakken stalked back to her, shaking his head in exasperation, and grabbed her roughly by the arm. She almost twisted away. _“Shego,”_ he hissed quietly. “You’re making me look bad. Show me you can be merciless.”

“But—,” but she was interrupted before she could articulate an excuse.

“Need I remind you, had you been any ordinary girl, these men would have hurt you. Horrendously. So punish them already and get it over with. Kill them if you want. They’re expendable.”

_“Kill?”_ she uttered in surprise. She’d been at least partially responsible for deaths before – by mistake – in the heat of the moment – but it couldn’t be proven she was to blame for the casualties. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see the goons on display pay after what they’d tried, but murder might have been a touch too severe.

Suddenly one of the men on trial made the dire mistake of calling the bluff, and not in a particularly clever way. _“Pussy,”_ the thug coughed under his breath. The man was cracking. The moron must have decided to let his mouth go unchecked if he was on death row for a little misconduct. “What’s wrong, boss? You sore the mistress is a slut?”

Like she hadn’t been called names before.

Before Shego could roll her eyes, the crack of a gunshot split the air and the offender jumped, crashing into the other at the spark of a bullet striking the asphalt where he’d stood a moment before.

_“Do_ something to them, Shego, or I will,” Dr. Drakken snarled over to her, only lowering his revolver slightly. She recognized it. So it _wasn’t_ just for show.

“I thought you were above using those,” Shego snapped, stepping back from him. She could understand now why the henchmen avoided stepping out of line.

Dr. Drakken waved the gun in a dangerously flippant manner. “Well _sorry_ if it’s tactless!” he drawled bitterly. “It’s effective, and this isn’t the time to argue about villain tradition. Show these men you are not to be reckoned with, Shego. _That’s an order.”_

“What do you expect?” shouted the moron who was lucky to still have toes at the moment. “You hired a _hero!”_

Nasty names she could handle. Nastier idiots mistaking her for an easy target she could handle.

But like a magic word, it was that accusation that set her off, and she didn’t need any more encouragement than that. If the vile thug wanted a fight, he could have it. She’d show them just how much of a _hero_ she was.

Letting a furious scream rip, Shego lunged into action to make an example of the offender before Drakken could shoot the fired henchman himself. Hand blazing hot – too, too hot – she let the swipe come down before the goon could dodge, connecting with the man’s torso with enough power to shred through his overalls and carve into the unthinkable beneath. A hot knuckle sandwich and the heel of her boot weren’t the taste of her they’d wanted, but it was what they got as they tried and failed to fight her off. One tried to flee, but he didn’t get far – as one plasma shot to the back and he was down for the count. He was the luckier of the two.

This time there was no intervention in the brawl, not that it lasted long enough for anyone to try.

Her brothers were thousands of miles away, but in her head, she could hear them screaming at her to stop over the roar of blood and her own scream in her ears.

Once the men were down, her fury died as quickly as it had been kindled. In no time at all, she’d overdone it, and she didn’t stop to wonder how many teeth she’d knocked out as she leapt back from the whimpering bloody pulp she’d been laying into.

Shego left the battered men sprawled on the ground as she abandoned the brutal scene without a glance back. She examined her knuckles as she went. The new gloves were sullied and in need of a good wash, but otherwise they had held up well, and the sharpened tips served a function after all, though she didn’t want to think too hard about it or that Hugo had been right that they weren’t too conducive to hero work.

Dr. Drakken barked an order for the offenders to be _taken care of,_ and then he wasn’t far behind her, although he kept his distance.


	6. Enabler – 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now! I must mention, _“If you leave, that's your choice, but I would like to not lose my car in the process.”_ ahahhaa

Reclined in a computer chair before the CCTV system, Shego had her feet kicked up on the desk and a magazine she’d already read front to back open on her lap when she heard the quiet tip-toe of Dr. Drakken’s descent down the staircase. In her peripheral, she saw him poke his head out from the stairwell, but she didn’t look up from the magazine.

It had been hours since the explosive demonstration, but he was wise to continue giving her a wide berth. A mumble announced his presence before he cautiously called out to her. She didn’t let her surprise show when the sheepish man awkwardly apologized for provoking her wrath.

Shego merely shrugged it off with a deceptively nonchalant grunt and flipped a page in her magazine. Following orders was in the job description after all, but didn’t remind him so.

Making a funny thoughtful sort of whine, the man drummed his fingers on the wall he was peeking out from behind. “I was beginning to have my doubts,” he dared to share. “But you made me proud out there. Fine work, Shego.”

It was an odd sort of congratulation and it didn’t sound natural at all. It didn’t do squat to comfort her, if that was the intent. She didn’t feel particularly proud of herself, no matter how nice it had felt at the time to lash out at men well deserving of the attention.

She didn’t have to tell or threaten Dr. Drakken to shut up. Her cold shoulder got that message across loud and clear without her moving a muscle.

Even if she didn’t so much as glance up at him, she could tell he was still daunted by the earlier flogging he’d incited, and was being careful to tread softly around her minefield temper, likely fearful of detonating her on himself. Shego didn’t like his cagey glances, but she took no action to assure him the threat had passed.

The man safely reached his desk and took a seat to tend to business she didn’t care to inquire on. He shuffled around behind her now and then, moving slow and trying to stay quiet. When Shego swiveled her chair to keep better tabs on him from the corner of her eye, he just about dropped a sack of paperwork he’d pulled from a filing cabinet tucked in a corner behind the desk. As if afraid to make any sudden movements, he moved at a snail’s pace as he returned to going about his business. He flipped pages, plopped stacks aside, hummed, scribbled, and highlighted for what felt like hours.

Shego didn’t move from her chair the entire time, nor did she look up to him. The longer she sat peacefully, the more he relaxed. She could tell that much when he gradually returned to his regular amount of huffs and sighs and grumbles. A mean little thought crossed her mind and almost made her smirk as she considered doing something – _anything,_ like maybe shooting plasma into the crackling fireplace – to startle him, but she supposed watching her beat the daylight out of two big mean men may have frightened him enough for one day.

Sometime that evening, the man heaved a huge apathetic sigh as if to make an announcement and sat back at his desk. It certainly garnered her attention, and from the corner of her eye she could see him scrubbing his face. He slumped forward on the desk, groaning wretchedly into his hands before tossing his glasses aside entirely and rubbing his temples.

“I’m down to three henchmen now,” he said as if declaring defeat, head still in his hands.

Shego didn’t let her surprise show as she finally looked up from the magazine. She studied the man and his desk and concluded he’d been combing through records on his staff. His henchmen must have been garbage anyway if he was willing to forfeit more than half of his crew for her. Unless of course it was a big fat lie or he’d planned to sack them anyway to save a buck. She remained unmoved, sparing no remark.

“They’re good seeds, though,” Drakken added, sounding almost hopeful. Nonetheless, he whined as he stacked up papers and folders. _“Nnng,_ that sounds so backwards. But! I’ll have you know, the worse they have on record are traffic violations and shoplifting. Happy now?”

Ignoring the question and his anxious stare as he awaited some sort of approval from her, Shego pulled her feet off the surveillance desk and stood to stretch. “I’m hungry,” she answered dully instead. “Are you going to take me out for Chow, or do I have to steal your keys? Because I’m not having canned soup again and I don’t trust the cafeteria grub anymore.”

Glasses back on his nose, Drakken frowned across the room at her, but after a moment he gave a yielding rumble and slumped back in his chair to root around in a pocket of his slacks. He pulled his car key off the ring and tossed it across to her, carping, “Don’t make me regret this,” as she caught it.

Shego arched an eyebrow at him, even as she gravitated toward the stairwell. “Aren’t you coming?” she called over, just a tiny bit perplexed as he went back to shuffling paperwork around.

The man grunted dismissively. “No. I have work to do.”

“Oh. Okay,” Shego muttered, taken aback. She looked down to the key and back to him, and to the door beyond him leading into the henchmen’s domain. “Are you assigning me an escort or…?” Or was he actually letting her go alone?

“Do you need a sitter?” he retorted, and shook his head. “Go. Do whatever you’re going to do, just be back by morning.” He gave a wave to dismiss her.

She should have been happier to be given such slack and the key to the ride. Though she really hadn’t been kept on any kind of leash since her arrival, she realized as she left. There wasn’t a single thing keeping here but reluctance to just walk off into the unknown.

And now she had the key to Dr. Drakken’s SUV – but in light of his indifference, the drive to do something unruly was markedly absent. She gave it her consideration, but the freedom to go have a night on the town wasn’t so tempting. She had a funny suspicion that even if she did cause a stir with the law tonight, she might only earn a pat on the back for getting away with it – because she _knew_ she would.

She kept Dr. Drakken’s rule of thumb in mind: don’t stir trouble in one’s own neighborhood. With that voice of reason nagging her all the way, Shego didn’t do anything more rebellious than smoke in his rig and ignore a stop sign. She could have snuck into a pub, or found some shady back-alley deal to make or bust, or gone to see a movie without paying. She considered dining and dashing somewhere nice, but the thought of dining alone didn’t appeal to her for reasons that disgusted herself.

In the end, she swung by a Cow-n-Chow drive-thru to order two meal combos so she wouldn’t seem so…so what? _Pathetic?_ Because she was alone? It was a damn drive-thru for crying out loud. The underpaid staff couldn’t care less if she bought one meal or enough for the whole crew. Shego scoffed to herself as she drove back to the hillside lair, something miserable curling in her stomach. With four brothers, and having been in charge of _two_ since they were in diapers, she could barely remember being as alone as she felt now.

She caught herself wondering for a moment what Dr. Drakken would do if she never came home – although where she’d go, she didn’t know. Probably back to Go City. Would he hunt her down, or just write her off and let her go? He hadn’t sought vengeance on her for past transgressions, so she’d bet her money on the latter.

And then she cringed. Not in a million years could that dingy lair be called a _home._ She’d only been there two weeks, and the place was dark and cold and kind of damp and a far cry from welcoming. It wasn’t a home by any means. It was only a place to crash and a roof over her head. It was a _lair_ – a safehouse, a crucial part of keeping a low profile.

There was a nation-wide search for her. The hideout was necessary, even if it was a burrow set in the side of a sorry little mountain half-scorched by a past wildfire. Running off and never coming back was lackluster. She’d already done that.

Left alone with her unwelcomed thoughts, they involuntarily drifted back to why she’d ever skipped town in the first place. Why there was a manhunt for her. What she’d done to her big brother. He might be a big softy and let it slide – it was an _accident, _one he’d brought upon himself no less – but the organization he worked under was guaranteed to be less understanding. A full pardon was a fantasy. There was no way they’d take her back with open arms after what she’d done. Going back would mean atoning for her actions. Even if she wasn’t imprisoned for _attempted homicide,_ she’d still be going back to the same life on a tight leash she’d just abandoned.

She could ditch Dr. Drakken and his lair whenever she wanted. She could live on the lam like any ordinary runaway.

Yet she returned to the lair.

Stealing Dr. Drakken’s car tonight had lost its appeal anyway. Maybe some other time.

The gangly henchman manning the gate was hasty and bumbling. He kept his head down and avoided looking up to her as he let her through, tripping as he pushed the gate open. She couldn’t help smiling bitterly to herself, content as could be with his healthy fear of her.

The cool subterranean lair was a welcoming respite from the evening heat, but the paper sack she gripped was starting to lose its warmth as she made her way downstairs.

She announced her entry with a flat, _“Knock, knock,”_ which was enough to startle Dr. Drakken still stationed in his office, but then he was right back to work, thoroughly engrossed in an unusually compact desktop computer she suspected he’d built from scrap. He jerked back when she dropped a brown sack of Chow in front of him on the desk. She’d already had her dinner back in the car, not that he’d find any evidence of it to chide her over.

As she came around his desk, Shego smiled to herself again, content with the knowledge he let her get away with so much more than her family ever did. Polar opposite of them, he actually _encouraged _thrilling little hobbies like thieving and roughing people up, so long as it wasn’t inconveniencing. He was a bad influence if she ever knew one, not that she needed much of a push.

She perched on an available armrest of his chair, watching him brush the food aside to get colder as he resumed clacking away at the keyboard. Eyeing his slumped shoulders, a ludicrous notion from earlier escaped the lockbox.

She didn’t have a chance to run it by herself a second time when she abruptly leaned over. She wouldn’t exactly call it a hug – more like just leaning on his back in a piss-poor show of appreciation, because wrapping her arms around him in a full embrace sure as hell wasn’t happening.

Dr. Drakken tensed. He might as well have been carved from stone like the rest of the lair.

Shego didn’t dare let herself indulge in the notion that he smelled almost nice, but in a huffing-fumes sort of way from whatever fuels or grease that had rubbed off on his jacket, or whatever he used to slick back his hair – because she was shoving herself away from him the moment an unwarranted lurch in her chest caused her to warm over.

Inwardly berating herself to _never do that again,_ Shego ended the awkward contact as suddenly as she’d initiated it, though it was a mistake to let a hand linger on his shoulder for a moment too long to give it a squeeze, hoping it might convey her thanks.

She squeezed her unintentionally warm hands between her knees as she glared to the crackling fireplace, taking measured breaths as she willed the heat to leave her face. As desperately as she wished she could bury what goodness remained in her heart six feet under and in a lockbox for the sake of turning a new leaf and taking the whole _evil_ gig seriously, that wasn’t happening. She wasn’t a hero, but she wasn’t inhuman either. She could at least work on being _inhumane,_ and that meant not doing stupid things like trying to hug someone to show gratitude, or whatever had been behind the impulse.

It took Dr. Drakken clearing his throat before she slipped away from the armrest, taking the brusque cue to back off. Without a word, she left him grimacing and his face a funny shade as she strode off quietly to hole herself up in her room for the night.

She left whatever had transpired behind her as she focused on getting herself into bed, knocking back a shot of cold medicine knock herself out early for the night to escape overthinking.

She was late to rise the next day, and the worst thing to plague her mind was the ingrained anticipation of being chided for sleeping in. The dread nagged at her as she suited up and combed her hair quickly, hastily making herself presentable, only to find Drakken wasn’t in the lab, or even down in his office. The surveillance feed indicated activity out in the garage that doubled as a scant hangar.

A deadpan stare was fixed on her face as she moseyed in, ready to face the day and Dr. Drakken with the futile hope she would be tasked with something more engaging than watching surveillance feed again.

She slowed her pace halfway to the chief overseeing today’s project, something about his posture raising a warning to proceed with caution. Two of the remaining henchmen took notice of her, but then ducked their heads and avoided eye contact like guilty children. One man sat on a stack of tires, and the other stood at attention to lend a listening ear to Drakken’s low chatter.

The men were gathered in the midst of a mess of dismantled aircraft, and Shego had barely stepped foot into the ring of clutter when she paused at the boss’s rising tone.

“If you’re missing the parts, _THEN GO GET THEM!”_ roared Dr. Drakken with a stern point to the door, and even Shego flinched. The abrupt ferocity was startling, but it in the same vein it was reassuring that he might very well pull off _fearsome dictator_ one day. The men booked it, Dr. Drakken shoving one of the goons as he passed.

The chief whipped around and was about to storm right by her as if she were invisible when Shego piped up. “What’cha need? Maybe I could get it,” she offered, trying not to sound so desperate for something to do. Something exciting, preferably.

The frustrated man snorted. _“Please,”_ he scoffed. “I need a whole new _jet._ The most these imbeciles know about aerodynamics is _paper planes, _and I’ve seen children fold better.”

Shego wondered inwardly why the know-it-all didn’t just get his own hands dirty and build a jet himself if he needed one that badly. He certainly had enough scrap lying around for one. Maybe even two. A fanciful thought crossed her mind as she eyed the scavenged remains, and she couldn’t help muttering thoughtfully to herself, “I can fly a jet.”

Before she could dismiss the notion, Drakken was scoffing in her direction, shooting her a displeased frown before turning back to head for his lab. “Very funny, Shego,” he groused. “Next you’re going to tell me you’re the Easter Bunny.”

Well, she _had_ put out baskets and hidden eggs for kids before – but he didn’t need that information.

“No, really,” she insisted, taking long strides to keep up with his brisk pace. “I mean, I’m not licensed, but my brother had special authorization, and I copiloted a lot with him the past year, and I actually—,” she clamped her running mouth shut abruptly, realizing she may have let slip too much. Divulging Team Go information like her illicit copiloting might have been just a little too traitorous for her just yet.

Drakken was flapping a hand in blatant disregard anyway. “Bullbuttons. There’s no way a kid can fly a jet,” he said arrogantly, not buying it for one moment.

Shego paused and scowled at his back. _Kid_ comment aside, she was offended that he didn’t believe her. But then again, she supposed it _was_ a farfetched thing to believe. There was no denying she was a tad young to know how to fly – but _so what?_ He _knew_ she was no ordinary girl, so he ought to know not to hold her to ordinary standards.

Still glaring, Shego turned away without adding to the argument.

She’d show him.

**++X++**

Dr. Drakken hadn’t noticed the newcomer had left his side until he was crossing the threshold into the foyer, at which point he heard the sudden rev of an engine and the squeal of tires spinning out. Whipping around, his eyes flew wide and he patted his pockets to feel for his keys, but as he watched his favorite set of wheels barrel out of the garage, he came to the stark realization that the new recruit had never returned his car key last night.

_“Stop her!” _he bellowed, but the bumbling idiots racing back to him were a moment too late. Reprimand was in store for the oaf who’d left the damn gate open. There was nothing more he could do as she floored it off the premises and down the gravel driveway with a trail of dust in her wake.

Drakken ordered for someone to put keys in his hand _immediately,_ and thus he commandeered the car of the nearest henchman and sped out of the garage in a little red Beetle, but it was no use. The secondhand car was no match for the disobedient subordinate when she had such a head start. In his haste to cut her off, he made the mistake of trying to take a shortcut down Main Street to meet her at the highway out of town, only to get himself stuck in untimely morning traffic.

Defeat was bitter. He should have known better.

Sighing heavily in frustration and shoving his glasses up his forehead, Drakken leaned on the door and rubbed his eyes as he waited for a red light to turn green.

The clown accompanying him had the nerve to speak up. “Uh, boss? What just happened?” asked the henchman.

To which Drakken could only growl out something indiscernible through his teeth. He wasn’t completely sure what had just happened himself, but he could take a guess. Chasing after her was a lost cause at this point, so he grudgingly pulled a U-turn to head back.

He prowled back through the lair to the landline in his kitchen and waited at the counter with a frown creasing his brow deeper by the second as he waited for the call to be answered. The first attempt yielded zero result, so he tried again, and on the very last ring, Shego finally picked up the cell phone he’d graciously gifted her last week.

“Yeah, what is it?” she snapped harshly on the other end before he could get a word in. “Kinda busy here.”

“Shego, just _what_ do you think you’re doing?” he demanded through grit teeth.

“You wanted a jet. I’m jacking you a jet.”

He really couldn’t tell if she was being serious, but the implications of jet theft crossed his mind regardless. “You are going to get yourself _killed,_ more like it,” he retorted.

“Aw, worried about me? That’s so touching,” she jeered, and he heard her feign a gag.

Questions stormed in his brain – like where she planned to get a jet, how she planned to pull it off, how the hell would he get his car back – but none of them made it out of his mouth before she spoke again.

Her scathing tone eased to something more playful at least. “This job don’t come without risks, Dr. D. Don’t worry about little ol’ me,” she said, and Drakken found himself grimacing as her mischievous chuckle met his ear. Did she think this was a joke?

“Oh, I will,” Drakken mumbled. He dreaded whatever she was scheming. Her safety _was_ of some concern, but first and foremost, it couldn’t mean anything good for _him_ if she got herself busted. There was the doubt as well that _stealing a jet_ was just a ruse. What if she’d duped him? So soon after firing all but three of his men, the worry of losing her and all her potential danced on his nerves.

There was a pause, and he wasn’t sure if he should take the chance to lecture her for the brash decision or beg her to turn around, but Shego beat him to it.

“Drakken, I need you to trust me,” she pleaded coolly, and something in her tone _almost_ persuaded him to do just that. “Don’t be tracking me, don’t try to follow me, just…stay out of my way – and don’t call me. I got this. ‘Kay?”

Before he could agree or disagree, she hung up.

He hadn’t a way to track her anyway, he realized unhappily. He didn’t have her chipped, nor did he have his rig bugged either.

All he could do was accept that if he lost her, he lost her. And if she returned, then great. But if she didn’t, he was out several henchmen and one priceless reckless subordinate. He sourly acknowledged that she wasn’t much of a subordinate if she was going to be running off on her own accord like this. Shego was quickly making herself into more of an accomplice he wielded very little control over, if anything.


	7. Enabler – 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Her reputation going sour was no secret."_ – a line of interest from Ch1 of _The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie_. ;3 Just throwin’ that out there.  
Also! A definite nod to the cupcakery here, because headcanon: those recipes were taken from Drakken’s cookbook. Also headcanon: Drakken likes baking, fite me. This makes sense to me since Ron likes baking, and since Drakken’s shown interest in recipes.
> 
> Muchas gracias to [gofordrakgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gofordrakgo/pseuds/gofordrakgo) for editing! ♥

As his first day alone in more than two weeks wore on, Dr. Drakken became increasingly aware he was off his game.

He haphazardly wrapped up the order of power staves and shipped them off to free up his schedule. Even left with a surplus of free time on his hands, left in the total privacy of his lab with no one to hover and no distracting upgrades to personalized combat gear to win himself brownie points, he made very little headway on his drones.

He managed to get one robot up and running, so to speak, but commands that seemed so simple like _stand_ and _walk_ just didn’t compute. Yet the buggy self-aware machine managed to rise on its own accord and point to the unassembled duplicates strewn about in a thousand different pieces on his worktable. Worst of all, the bare-bones robot began chanting, _“sisters, sisters, sisters,” _incessantly until something Drakken said or did caused its head to snap his direction. Preservation activated and an artificial fight or flight drive tripped, unfortunately geared toward fight. The skeletal droid abruptly announced him a threat to the _sisters_ and lurched into action. Lucky for him, there was still a plug to pull.

He could have used some assistance in disabling the mutinous drone, but he managed on his own, as he always had. He shut down the project for the day to tend to a swollen lip received in the collision of steel knuckles and his face.

Back in his quarters, he couldn’t help casting glances to the phone, itching to dial – to dial _someone._ Anyone. He knew exactly who he wanted to ring up and give an earful to, but he clenched his fists and stamped a foot and grunted to himself as he stalked away from the landline. He had a headache and didn’t need to deal with her attitude now anyway.

Solitude was still disheartening. If he had expected a call from the runaway that evening to update him of her progress or lack thereof, or even to say goodnight or make small talk or anything at all, then he was sorely disappointed.

Drakken knew she wouldn’t have approved – in fact he was certain she would have been furious with him if she’d known – but he’d taken the liberty of sending out henchmen to gather intel on the superhuman. Granted, he’d lost those resourceful fellows, who’d only just returned from the assignment with their haul a day before getting the axe.

As Drakken lugged the overflowing box out of the storage room the next day, he reasoned with himself that he deserved to know who he’d been harboring, especially if he planned to continue to do so. He’d been just a little too wary to touch the box before, lest she pop up behind him to catch him red handed.

He deposited it on his coffee table and locked the door to his quarters for good measure, just in case the woman returned and came barging in at an especially undesirable time.

An abundance of manila folders stuffed with news articles topped the box, and if the men hadn’t already been fired, Drakken might have tipped whoever was responsible for courteously ordering the articles by date, even if he’d nearly scattered them as he unthinkingly tossed them aside while rummaging. VHS and cassette tapes at the bottom of the box made up the other half of the heft. Infiltrating a Global Justice base to steal her official records had been asking too much of the henchman, but an excess of media coverage to expose her would have to be good enough.

With the Bebe bots a bust and a woman who wasn’t even _present_ distracting him still, Drakken settled in to squander his day reading what the sacked henchmen had scrounged up. He could spend an entire week reviewing her hero streak, reading the articles and watching the news reports or listening to interviews on tape, but he elected to skim through the past the four years worth of clippings, pulling out a folder from the bottom of the stack to begin.

A few nights ago, at three in the morning, he had been woken by the girl slamming his “front” door and stalking to his kitchen, the green embers glittering over her skin burning off perspiration and nearly setting her pajamas ablaze. She forwent a glass and drank straight from the faucet before hanging over his sink to hold her head under the stream of water, cursing about a comet. She’d looked just a little too unstable for him to hazard questioning her then, and had returned to his room to let her raid his kitchen for a midnight snack in peace.

So Dr. Drakken wasn’t altogether surprised when the earliest scant news coverage regarded a chip off a comet that had struck down in the suburbs of Go City. It had come so fast and so sudden that there had only been a couple blurry shots of the meteorite’s decent and recovery to accompany the articles. That it hadn’t left a bigger crater or caused fatalities was a mystery, but there was no mention of five quarantined adolescents caught up in the catastrophe either, so a cover-up wasn’t improbable.

Within the year, a trio of teenagers in uniform were garnering admiration of the general populace with their heroic feats. Front-page photos of a distantly familiar girl with her hair still short and boyish beside defeated villains bound up and posed with like trophies, frequently smiling smugly for the camera, should have been enough to make any villain in his right mind reconsider taking her in. Drakken wanted to believe he knew her better than that – that she wasn’t the vigilante she claimed she never wanted to be, and that there was no chance she might be on her way back to his lair with her teammates to hand his ass to him at any moment – but it wasn’t so easy.

Guiltily, he came realize that maybe she hadn’t been pulling his leg about her piloting capability after all when he found a clipping from last fall, featuring a photograph of a far more recognizable woman in uniform along with two young men like her in front of a jet as colorful as their suits, which had been generously donated to them by Global Justice. The Go Tower constructed in the bay a year earlier served as a monument and a base, and Dr. Drakken would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little envious that some superhuman youths had it all handed to them on a silver platter just for swearing an oath to use their gifts for good.

The set of gloves he’d fashioned paled in comparison to the extravagant gifts from Global Justice and Go City. Clearly, _giving_ her things was no way to win her allegiance, because the girl’s hero career had been short-lived. She’d served little more than three years. If she’d only abided by their rules, she could have been living it up, yet she’d formally quit her team _months_ ago.

As of this year, there was a marked change in the tone of the headers. There was less and less praise to be found, until there was next to none at all. If he’d been hoping to find reassurance she was genuinely a bad seed, he got it, though snooping made him feel worse with each article he skimmed over.

Nasty gossip sprung up like weeds. Disbelief and speculation aplenty could be found in clippings from newspapers and magazines as to why she’d abandoned her occupation as a beloved hero. The supply of libel following her resignation was endless. If he had to guess, serving under Global Justice had kept such publications suppressed before, but she’d lost that perk when she put her foot down on doing their bidding.

Blasting _scandalous,_ one popular rumor circulated that she’d withdrawn because she was a typical case of irresponsible teen pregnancy, such negligence marking her unfit to be a role model any longer. That she was still occasionally seen in uniform despite her quitting should have proven she wasn’t expecting – but instead it inspired ridicule and controversy over endangerment and abortion. There was no wining on that front without a good lawyer, which he doubted the girl behind the mask could afford without Global Justice’s charity.

That lost traction when the former hero lashed out at a news reporter on live television. Written accounts played it off as if it had been unprovoked, but Dr. Drakken found a tape on the incident at the bottom of the box that proved otherwise. He was hesitant to hit play on the copy of the broadcast. The masked young woman trying to escape a bombardment of questions was hard to watch as she was confronted by the press with the matter of substance abuse, among other things, all because marijuana was said to be smelled on her clothes. Once _detox_ was mentioned, the cornered superhuman – disheveled and fresh out of an unsanctioned battle – lost her cool and attacked the reporter outright. It was all caught on camera until she was swept away screaming profanities by her gorilla of a brother.

Less than a month later, paparazzi spotted her outside of her hero attire, a familiar ponytail and mismatched boots enough to give her away. It was bad enough she was recognized without her uniform and mask, but she was caught smoking with some punks on a school campus. The snapshot was fuzzy, and there was no way to distinguish what was probably only a cigarette from anything else, but nevertheless it brought an impending graduation into question.

It did not help when some wacked-out addict, an unreliable source if there ever was one, came forward claiming to have taught her the art of cooking meth. The junkie was later found battered and left on the steps of a rehab center. Her signature plasma burns left on the man sparked ever more gossip as to her changing demeanor and bad habits.

On the hero scene, Shego had been golden – but after quitting, the press wasted no time in tarnishing her reputation. Her worsening temper and foul mouth didn’t help the backlash. Her name had been drug through the mud over the past six months, with only a few gems of praise from faithful groupies to be found among the stack of slander.

Dr. Drakken wouldn’t be surprised if it was all true, even the conspiracy theories mixed in about her being from another planet.

_"This is why I don't like the hero scene. Everyone knows everything,"_ she’d told him the night he’d found her wandering down a highway in the dark. He hadn’t had much to lose that night when he went with a gut feeling and sprung the proposition on the downtrodden young woman, but whether or not it was the right decision remained to be seen.

Given the stress of the media hounding her every move, both on and off duty, and the family turmoil he’d witnessed from a distance, Dr. Drakken had to bottle his pity for how discontent the runaway must have been to actually jump in a car with an utter stranger and just _go._

Before the guilt of prying could get to him too badly, he called it quits and stuffed everything back into the box, double-checking the VCR to be sure he didn’t forget anything she might find later. She’d made it explicitly clear she didn’t want him digging into her past. Even if the box contained publicly available media – for the most part – going through it left a bad taste in his mouth, as if he’d been reading her diary.

Despite the evidence he had that she was indeed a bad apple with a slim chance of returning to her old life, it still felt unwise to put everything on the line for an ex-hero that could easily thwart his plans from the inside. Drakken sat back and shut his eyes, straining to take her words to heart no matter how difficult it was to do so.

_“Trust her,”_ he snorted. “Trust her to _what?_ Bring her _brothers_ to my doorstep?”

But then, he supposed she could have done that already. If she’d wanted to stop him before he could become a major threat, she could have cornered him back in Go City, when she had her team close by to back her up. And even once she was in the lair, she’d had ample time to call in the hounds, and plenty of opportunity to hack into his computers to uncover any master plans, yet she hadn’t busted him yet.

Drakken slumped with his head thrown back over the spine of the couch, stewing a short while on how trustworthy this new partner of his really was, before tuning in to Go City broadcasts to watch the news. She’d only been gone about thirty hours, but he still waited with the bleak expectation to hear some breaking news announcement of her return to the metropolis, anticipating it to be a reason to rejoice. None came, but it still served to worry him.

Leaving the television on, he gave it just a little longer as his stomach drew him toward his kitchen. He’d never had breakfast. He wasn’t even sure if he’d had dinner yesterday. The phone drew his eye though, and he forcibly looked away from it and to the fridge as he took inventory. It was getting a tad late to start on any lab projects, and he could still taste a sore reminder of yesterday’s mishap on his lip.

A check through his cookbook and he found himself gravitating back toward the phone once again. He grudgingly made a call, although it wasn’t the number his fingers itched to dial, and greeted his mother with a weary, _“Hello,”_ and waited for the next half hour for the woman’s exuberance to die down enough to get a word in edgewise.

“That one?” chirped his mother. “Honey, are you feeling alright?”

Drakken blinked and sucked on his split lip. “Relatively speaking,” he slipped. He fished out his notebook and spread it open, eager to get the call over with. “Um. The market will be closing soon,” he lied. “So can I get that recipe?”

“Only if you call me later to tell me how they turn out,” the woman haggled haughtily.

“I’ve made devil’s food before, mother,” he sighed, drumming his pen on the pad. He noticed the pages of memos on the recent gloves and flipped to a fresh page with a small snort.

“Not with my recipe, you haven’t,” chided the woman, and proceeded to let him in on the family secrets in detail. Word for word, he copied down the recipe she knew by heart, running the instructions and ingredients by her once before thanking his mother and heading out the door.

By midnight, a sweet tooth had been satisfied, but sitting alone at the counter with a warm devil’s food muffin drizzled with chocolate ganache just brought his awareness to a weird sort of cavity he wasn’t unfamiliar with but had been successful in ignoring for years – until now, apparently.

He decided he’d have to tell his mother about the muffins tomorrow. It was late, and if he dared pick up the phone now, he might dial the wrong number accidentally on purpose.

The third day alone wasn’t any more productive than the last, but at least he didn’t spend it holed up in his quarters gorging on muffins. True, he’d slept through his alarm, but he gave himself the excuse that it was Sunday, and he’d spent the latter half of his night lying wide awake staring at his ceiling in a vain effort to get some shut eye.

He could tell himself all he wanted that fresh air would do him some good, but it was a lie. Testing out a back-burner product on new targets the henchmen had been tasked to whip up did little to improve his mood. The vaporizing rifle prototype did its job fine, obliterating the targets, though the sight was off and it really needed work to fix an issue of kickback that just about dislocated his shoulder.

Other than taking down a couple memos to be sure he did that, he didn’t make any progress to speak of on his projects. The random destruction of dummies and henchmen fearing they’d be the next targets did little to inspire him and get his head back in the game.

He knew exactly who to blame for it, too. _Little ol’ her_ was a troublesome woman. Though he wasn’t sure if he was worried for her wellbeing – maybe a little, but maybe not – he was certainly stressed enough worrying about the potential consequences letting her go could have. The thorn in his side wasn’t even _here_ and she had him more distracted and frazzled than ever.

Drakken shoved the elaborate rifle into the hands of the henchman on standby and ordered him to return the contraption to the closet, but the henchman didn’t march off immediately, and instead asked something as daringly out of line and ludicrous as, “Rough breakup?” Which sent Drakken reeling as if he’d been cut, and he vehemently ordered the goon to get a move on if he didn’t want to be booted along with the rest.

He ate another damn muffin for lunch, knowing damn well the sweet confection wouldn’t improve his bitter mood.

When the phone rang, he was all too quick to dive for it. Answering was a mistake, and he struggled with the balance of taking bites of savory chocolate and holding a conversation with his nosy mother. She accused him of being upset and went through a list of every likely reason why, and he denied every possibility. If the nagging didn’t alleviate the loneliness somewhat, he would have hung up.

“It’s a girl, isn’t it?” his mother finally guessed, and Drakken had to bite his tongue and hold the phone out lest she hear his weary groan. No matter how wildly far off the mark she was, it was an inevitable question she always fired off at some point – only this time, maybe for the first time in history, she was actually right. Sort of. But he sure wasn’t going to admit that.

“No, mother,” he droned. “It’s just been a rough week,” he assured her for the umpteenth time. It really hadn’t been. Slaving over unique gloves had actually been quite rewarding, the worst part of the week being the part where his car got hijacked and he was left worrying if the new recruit would be friend or foe when she came back, if she came back at all.

After the phone call, he eyed the plate of delectable muffins sitting out on the counter, and decided it best to stow the remaining half dozen of them in the refrigerator out of sight before he could make himself sick.

The next day, Drakken was drilling it into his own head that he _didn’t_ miss having anyone to hover, breathe down his neck, or criticize him as he tinkered with the fine inner workings of a robot brain. If he could only get the droids up and running like half-operational human beings, the Bebes would theoretically fill the human need for company. And even if they didn’t, he still had three organic subordinates – the henchmen – to fall back on. He didn’t need a snarky girl leaning on him and giving him sass trying to get his goat.

His lip was curled at the very thought of someone breaching his personal bubble uninvited when suddenly his subject booted up. It took him a second of staring back at the robot before the Bebe blinked mechanically and he leapt back. What really scared the bejeebers out of him was the fact the android hadn’t even been plugged in to a power source. Before she could fully start up, he reached into the Bebe’s cranium to pull out the CPU to put her to sleep for a nice long while until he was ready to deal with self-aware robots sporting hyperactive preservation drives again. The other two dormant severed heads received the same treatment just to be on the safe side.

His heart was still thudding from the first surprise when he received another unwelcomed jolt.

The room flashed red and a bone-rattling siren buzzed to announce a threat. Either someone had sounded the alarm, something had been tripped, or something malfunctioned. Whatever the case, he was in too much of a foul mood to be pleased by the uncharacteristically swift response of two of his henchmen cutting through the lab with their staves ready.

False alarms were more common than not at this point. There must have been one at least once a month for the past year since establishing his Nevada lair.

Dr. Drakken cast aside his tools and replaced his goggles with his eyeglasses, ready to storm out after the goons to find out what the hullaballoo was all about. It was probably just another unfortunate raccoon stuck in the fence.

Before he could take three steps from his work station, a henchman’s voice crackling over the intercom made him jump once more. “Dr. Drakken, sir, you’re needed outside,” came the urgent summon, and Drakken heard a thunderous snarl booming before the intercom clicked off.

It certainly didn’t sound like snared wildlife.

The insistent siren alone induced a dreadfully unwanted adrenaline rush, urging him to hurry and shut the alarm off at the lab desk. Even without the blaring system that had left his ears ringing, he swore he could still feel a rumble under his feet, and cast a nervous glance upwards at the stalactites holding steady before he exited the lab.

He all but ran down to the garage. The second he opened the door and stomped out from the foyer, he heard the rumble of a jet engine dying down to a whine, and if he didn’t associate the sound with military, he might not be so concerned of the trouble that could be brewing.

The thought that he should have brought a weapon with him was fleeting.

Before he could make it outside to search the sky for the source of the rumble, his jaw dropped.

He wasn’t anticipating a jet to come rolling out of the dark and into the half-lit hangar, the wingspan barely making it through the broad garage door. The flashy new sky beast sported multicolored streaks and bolts, and as it came to a stop in the middle of the scrap-filled warehouse, it dawned on Drakken exactly _where_ it had come from. He’d seen that jet before in a photograph just the other day.

As his men rushed in after the aircraft in the hot wake of the engines, their electrified rods raised in defense, Drakken stormed toward it, his livid glare locked on the single figure onboard.

The top popped and rose with a hiss to reveal the pilot, whose hands were held up in peace for a moment to give the henchmen pause before the intruder pulled off the helmet and mask. The aloof subordinate stood up in the cockpit, shook out her hair, and shot an outrageously smug smirk to Dr. Drakken.

**++X++**

Shego slid down from the body of the aircraft and didn’t have a chance to appreciate solid ground or even utter a greeting before Dr. Drakken reached her, and she could only stare in a surprised stupor as he raised a hand at her.

Next she was wide-eyed in shock and reaching up for the sting across her cheek. It hadn’t hurt, but it didn’t change the fact he’d slapped her. She was taken aback for a moment. “What was _that?”_ she blurted, turning a sneer back to him. “You hit like a baby!” Honestly, her baby brothers had whopped her worse than that.

And what was that he’d said about _the next man to lay a hand on her?_

She could get him back later, she decided, because she was pleased to be back regardless of his indiscernible sputtering and tantrum. Though she couldn’t pretend to understand what had his panties in a twist. She’d kept her word, hadn’t she?

What she _could_ do was chortle when the fuming man made a grab for her before he could calm down enough to think twice. It was hard to hold him at fault when he was a villain and had likely conditioned himself to act out, assuming he wasn’t already violent by nature, but she wouldn’t hesitate to teach him not to take out that temper on her if he pushed his luck any further.

Curious if he would however, she let him catch her roughly by the arm. But Drakken faltered once he had her – it was clear he hadn’t expected it to be that easy, or maybe some sense caught up to him – and his moment of surprise made it easy for her to pull her arm away.

Catching him off guard, she slipped behind his back. Her hands snuck up his suit jacket to find the back pockets of his trousers, making him jump. His yelp wasn’t particularly masculine.

_“Yoink,”_ she chirped, making off with his wallet as the startled man swung around.

Shego impishly remained two steps ahead of Dr. Drakken in pursuit of her, purely for the sake of egging him on although he was clearly riled up enough. She stole a gander at his driver’s license as she shuffled backwards. _“Andrew?”_ she snorted. He sputtered something with a note of embarrassment and lunged for it. She jumped back, plucked a twenty from the wallet, and finally surrendered it.

Drakken roughly snatched his wallet back from her outstretched hand, still practically shaking in his tantrum, a funny shade of purple creeping over his face. The indignant doctor barked her name furiously and lurched toward her again, but she leapt back out of reach for good measure.

_“Missed me, missed me,”_ she sang childishly, skipping back and smiling wryly at the hotheaded man.

He wasn’t calming down, none too pleased to be played with. Before she could knock it off on her own accord, Dr. Drakken gnashed his teeth and finally exploded something coherent, _“SEIZE HER!”_

To which Shego cocked a brow, and before she knew it, she was being restrained and shoved to her knees by a pair of henchmen, her arms twisted and secured behind her back. She knew she could still get the better of them, but she chose not to fight it as she watched suspiciously, once again curious to see just what Dr. Drakken thought he was going to do. She was done playing now though. Did he really think she would accept being slapped and manhandled, just like that? With him glaring as harshly as he was, she had half a mind to spit plasma at him when he stalked up to her.

The mad scientist opened his mouth and raised a finger to lay into her verbally when she sighed heavily and relaxed against the henchmen’s clutches. _“Okay,”_ she began. “So I lost your car, but I got the jet, didn’t I?”

Drakken’s purple-faced humiliation and anger ebbed as he threw a glance back, and his rigid shoulders slumped. She could see his temper cooling he studied the aircraft parked in his garage. She’d stayed true to her word, but it seemed like he was only just now registering that she had in fact brought him a jet.

“Where did you _get_ it?” he quizzed suspiciously as he turned back to eyeball her. Just about anyone else would have received plasma to the face for eyeing her body, but Shego had the funny feeling he was looking less at her figure and more at her pristine new uniform she’d stolen from the Go Tower – although the nature of his stare made it only slightly less unnerving.

“Just something from home,” she said flippantly, fixing a wry smile on her face.

“You stole tech from Global Justice,” he uttered.

“Not really, I mean – it was a gift,” she grumbled, casting her eyes down. That didn’t change the fact that _big brother_ monitored its usage.

Drakken must have realized that, because his eyes shot wide in dismay an instant before the anger from moments ago boiled back to the surface. “They can _track_ it here!” he gasped in alarm as he whirled on the threat in his lair.

Shego, on the other hand, lacked the same fear. The fact she remained unbothered seemed to enough to distress him.

“Cool the engines, Dr. D,” she called nonchalantly before he could fret over how to get a beacon out of his lair. “I squashed a few bugs, snipped a few wires. Give me some credit. I’m not just another stupid thug here.” He looked back to her as she nodded back to the henchmen holding her to make a point, but it hardly calmed him.

She tried to add a smile and a cheery on top, “Oh, _and_ – it can hover. It’s a hover jet. Far out, right?” She was really quite proud of herself, and couldn’t help beaming as she patiently waited to be commended. An order for her release would be nice, at least.

Dr. Drakken stepped back from her and ran a hand down his face. He held it over his mouth and stifled a whine, and Shego noticed he looked almost pained as he glanced back to the stolen mass of technology. “Release her,” he grunted to his men with a dismissive wave, and stalked away to go inspect the aircraft. As Shego crept up carefully behind him, she heard him muttering incredulously to himself, “I can use this. I can _really_ use this.”

“So, uh,” she started, and he flashed a glower back at her over his shoulder. She smiled sheepishly. “Does this make up for taking off and losing your car?” She decided, maybe, he didn’t need to know yet that she’s driven it off a pier and sank it in the ocean in the heat of the moment whilst fleeing the police earlier. She hoped there hadn’t been anything important in it.

Dr. Drakken surveyed her, his brow creased and his expression that of indecision as he considered the loss of his car in return for the multi-million-dollar aircraft. He settled for giving Shego’s shoulder a ginger pat. “I think I’ll keep you,” he said finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you read? Drop a comment! Don't be shy, I don't bite. ;3


	8. Distance – 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV jumps bc I like seeing both sides uwu  
Also, Dr. D’s offered to make dinner before when she was angry so this isn’t OOC of him, nopenopenope

Dr. Drakken wasn’t ready to give her the satisfaction of elaborating on how she’d disrupted him, but some amends were in order for his outburst in the garage. Reward for delivering an entire fully-operational jet loaded to the brim with exclusive tech would have to come later when he could think of something better.

For now, he swallowed his pride, tossed his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves.

He’d hit her. He couldn’t take back the fact, even if she’d laughed it off. He was lucky she hadn’t returned it on the spot, and she hadn’t exactly been shy to remind him so on the way up to the lab, feigning a punch that made him flinch before she burst out with mean laughter. If jets and towers and fame couldn’t please her, he doubted trivial favors like making her dinner would, but one had to start somewhere. It was all he could think of in a pinch at this time of night anyway.

While Shego took her sweet time with her post-mission shower, Dr. Drakken donned his apron and busied himself in the kitchen. He made note he’d have to stock it better, and soon, but he made do with what he had. It was pure luck he’d roughly planned out a meal in advance anyway when he’d gone shopping the other night for the ingredients needed for his devil’s food muffins.

Not a moment too soon, the superhuman thief dressed down to sweats and sweater strode into his living quarters without so much as a knock, as was the evening routine for her, and made a beeline for his couch with the intent of commandeering his television for the next while. He hastily tossed aside his splattered apron and couldn’t help throwing a nervous glance to the living room, paranoid he may have missed a scrap of evidence of his snooping.

Drakken cleared his throat to grab her attention before she could reach the couch. He caught her eye – she glared, he gulped – and she followed his glance and tiny nod to a plate of spaghetti he set down for her at the kitchen island. The fleeting thought crossed his mind that maybe it was time to invest in a regular dining table, but he pushed the thought aside before it could take root, the idea of dining with anyone regularly enough to need one ejected along with it.

The timer dinged behind him.

**++X++**

Shego cocked her brow at the man’s back as she approached cautiously, but he was busy slathering garlic-laced butter on crisped French bread.

She scrutinized the quick fixin’s on the platter before her. He needed work on his presentation, as the pasta was simply glopped on in a generous heap. But the smell was heavenly, she’d give him that. A glance to the empty cans and messy cutting board shoved aside on the counter indicated the sauce had been made from scratch, which left her just a little dubious. She hadn’t had spaghetti from scratch in more than four years. All the times she’d made the hasty dish for her family, the sauce had been premade from a can, and _forget_ taking the time to shape meatballs. Furthermore, mushrooms and tomatoes had been banned from _all_ meals to circumvent her baby brothers’ pickiness, and it was a relief not to see corn mixed with the noodles for a change. She’d be lying through her teeth if she said it didn’t make her mouth water.

Yet no matter how famished she was, she wasn’t gullible enough to tuck into the offering just like that. She stood a step back from the counter as the blue man turned with a hot slice of garlic bread balanced on a spatula to slip onto the edge of her untouched plate. He kept his eyes downcast while hers narrowed on him.

Shego broke first. _“You_ cook?” she asked incredulously, although she was lured that much closer by the warm garlic bread.

“Occasionally,” mumbled Drakken without so much as a glance back at her as he served himself practically one noodle at a time. “It’s good to take a break from the lab sometimes.”

_Sometimes._ That was laughable. Once in a blue moon, maybe. Given how dusty his cookware had become, it was hard to believe he was the sort of man to know how to cook for himself at all. Come to think of it, she was a little surprised he hadn’t asked _her_ to yet. It was a woman’s job after all, according her household, though she’d only done the chore because letting anyone else take over meant a bigger mess to clean or having her allowance cut.

As Shego watched the steam rise from the food, still straining to resist the temptation, she couldn’t help noticing another underlying smell hovering in the stagnant air over the permeating aroma of garlic and spice. It didn’t smell like it belonged in an evil man’s lair, but it backed up his claim nonetheless.

“No wonder it smells cakey in here,” she muttered with a light scoff. She didn’t have to see his face to know he was blushing. The tips of his ears gave it away. No wonder he was stalling.

“Muffins, actually,” he more or less squeaked, and had to clear his throat. “I’m burned out on them, so help yourself. They’re in the fridge.” He spooned some pasta back into the pan, still hesitant to face her.

Shego perched on a barstool and poked at the food suspiciously with the fork he’d left her. She almost hoped it would poke back to distract her from the awkward vibe hovering in the air thicker than the warm aromas of her boss’s cooking. “Alright, chief,” she sighed. “You’re acting like a baby. Man up. What was with that tantrum back there?”

His back still to her as he hovered over the stove, Drakken paused with noodles halfway to his mouth. He _almost_ looked back at her, but shook his head instead. “You should have called,” he stated, and quickly busied himself with chewing.

Shego shrugged and apologized dryly, _“Sorry._ I was busy.”

She slouched over the counter, pushing a meatball around with her fork. She studied her plate with growing apprehension, even as delicious as it looked. This was the first time she’d seen any indication of the man having culinary skills. He might have been stuffing his face with noodles from his own plate now, but so soon after his outburst in the garage, Shego couldn’t shake the distrust. This was all too _convenient._ She looked closely at the pasta, but if it was laced with anything _special,_ she couldn’t tell it apart from the parmesan or seasonings.

She waited another moment until Dr. Drakken finally braved turning around to lean against the far counter, though he still kept his eyes deliberately down on his own plate. She studied him carefully for a reaction that could justify her misgivings as she asked bluntly, “This isn’t poisoned, is it?”

The sulky mad scientist grimaced and shot a quick frown up at her. “It’s _dinner,”_ he clarified curtly. “Bon appétit.”

Shego wasn’t convinced. She hummed skeptically and beckoned him with a finger. The shifty man hesitated a moment before pulling up a stool to sit across from her like a civilized host, though he frowned in her direction as she twirled noodles around her fork.

Drakken lurched backwards when she held it up to him suddenly, nodding in silent answer when he stared back at her in questioning. He opened his mouth as if to argue that he wasn’t trying to poison her – but she took the opportunity to forcefully give him the first bite from her plate just in case. He almost spat it out in reflex, but must have thought better of it as she fixed him in a dangerous glare.

She waited until he’d swallowed before wiping her fork clean on a napkin and accepting the meal.

Offended, he snorted and grumbled half to himself, “My cooking isn’t that bad.”

“I get food poisoning just _looking_ in your fridge,” she shot back under her breath. She didn’t trust the meatballs either. They could have easily been tampered with. For good measure, she rolled a few of his onto her plate in exchange for hers. The trade-off earned her a deep frown and an indignant huff, but he didn’t voice complaint as he grouchily ate his sauce-slathered meal. At least the garlic bread she could be confident about.

Shego took only a couple cautious bites before dropping her fork. She really couldn’t let him off the hook so easy. Not without a better apology than spaghetti, and not until he quit _pouting._

“So. You threw a fit all because I didn’t check in like a good little girl. Is that it?” she shot over, flicking a glower up at him, but he continued to sheepishly avoid looking up. Shego mirrored his frown for a long moment before shrugging meekly to herself and shaking her head with exasperated sigh as she accepted the length of the metaphorical leash. If he had a leash on her at all, her little stint had proven she could yank it out of his hands whenever she wanted. “But you didn’t call to nag me, so…thanks for that.”

“I was tempted,” he admitted tersely, stabbing mercilessly at a meatball.

“And that’s fine. What matters is you didn’t.”

The man must have lost his appetite, because he set his fork down to chew instead on something verbal. “You had my _car,_ so don’t sound so smug,” he groused, flashing a glare up at her at last. He folded his hands under his chin and frowned back down again. “You’re free to come and go as you please. If I have to beg and bribe for your alliance, then your heart wouldn’t be in it, and frankly I doubt you’d work as efficiently if I forced you to be here against your will. I’m sure you’ve had your fill of _that_ anyway. I suppose you’ve been due for some freedom.”

It took Shego a moment to digest before quipping, “Are you talking to me, or your plate?” to which Dr. Drakken flicked his scowl up at her for a split second before his dark tired eyes darted away again. Nonetheless, she nodded and gave a small hum in agreement. The freedom she had now was more than her family and team had ever granted her. A _villain_ shouldn’t have been the one to give her that though.

**++X++**

Another moment under her watchful stare, and Dr. Drakken finally lost his cool, the girl on the other side of the kitchen island recoiling back from him. All the grief his company’s absence had given him over the past few days resurfaced again, and for the first time in ages, there was someone besides himself to hear it.

“I _missed_ you,” he blurted accusingly, and the slip tasted vile on his tongue. He slammed his fist on the counter in frustration. She’d gotten his goat, that was certain. He almost wished that would be enough to satisfy her, almost wished she would laugh and flip her hair and leave him to stew now – but instead she sat back and stared. Why he was compelled to answer that stare was beyond his understanding. “You had me so damn _worried,_ Shego.” He clapped a hand over his mouth and bit his cheek.

The watchful superhuman before him offered nothing more than her jaded gaze and a listening ear. Drakken clammed up for a moment, shamefaced that he’d cracked. But she was waiting.

His hands flailed as he rambled in a rush to explain before he could think better of it. “I hardly _know_ you,” he snapped at her. “How was I to know if you were really going to be come back, or if you’d just run off for good, or if you were backstabbing me? And when you didn’t call, I didn’t know if you’d been caught, and I was—_hhnng!”_ He groaned. He was worried for what it spelled for him, _sure,_ but he’d never been worried for anyone else before – at least not in a long while. And he had been worried for her, at least a little bit. That was as bad as missing the nuisance that loitered idly in his lab every day of the past two weeks.

Drakken hung his head and wanted to pull his hair out. He had to come up with a more professional way of dealing with this woman, because this just wouldn’t do. Henchmen were easy. Henchmen stayed down below, out of sight, out of mind, until he needed them.

Shego stared at him for a moment longer before tentatively offering, “I’m…sorry?”

The halfhearted apology made him snort. “No, _I’m_ sorry,” he grumbled, still gripping his hair. Her quizzical stare was impossible to ignore, and he made the mistake of glancing up at it. He swallowed as something danced to life among his entrails. Something warm. It was almost sickening, and it certainly didn’t belong there after he’d sworn off it years ago. “I’ve given up on making friends, but I thought you – I mean – it just pissed me off, alright? I wasn’t sure if I’d been played for a fool or if I’d done something wrong – I-I shouldn’t have lost my temper – but you can’t blame me. You left me out of sorts.” Drakken clamped his mouth shut again before he could dig at himself any deeper. She had to be loving his suffering. Another glance up revealed that maybe he was wrong.

Shego shifted, her eyes dropping finally as she loaded pasta onto her slice of garlic bread. She smirked and gave a small laugh, quiet and unsure. “Your henchmen don’t count as friends?” she asked quizzically.

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Drakken sighed miserably. They were hired manpower. The henchmen palled around among each other. Not so much with him. They didn’t fill the social void by any means. Drakken frowned back down to his food with a shake of his head. “I don’t need lackeys who resent me. I merely try to stay on _okay_ terms with them so they don’t quit, or worse – turn mutinous.”

“And you think _I_ won’t?” Shego scoffed, not even trying to mask the note of amusement. It shouldn’t have stung. She hardly qualified as a friend anymore than the henchmen did.

“I should hope not,” Drakken grumbled. “This has all been quite the trying trust exercise, I’ll have you know. I’m not a trusting person, but risks I’ll take.”

Shego hummed and muttered, “Ditto.” It seemed she was ready to let the subject of how adversely she’d affected the blue loner blow over. She went back to eating quietly.

Her plate was half-cleared when she hummed again for his attention. “Hey, Doc?” He glanced up to see her waving her fork at him, but thankfully not to shove in his face again. “If you ever do amount some big-shot world-dictator, what’ll that make me? The number one receptionist in the world? ‘Cause I’ll tell ya what, that ain’t gonna fly. It’s gonna have to be something pretty good if you don’t want me to kick your butt off your high horse.”

Well, at least she was getting that out in the open now rather than surprising him later down the road.

His face went slack as he chewed slowly, giving it a moment of thought. He peeked up to her still watching him, waiting for a reply. It was a serious question, he realized, and maybe a serious threat of premeditated mutiny. If he was the subject of a long con, so be it. He’d cross that bridge when he got there.

For now, Drakken shrugged. “I suppose you would be a fearsome partner in crime,” he jibbed carefully. He flapped a hand as he threw out ideas, “I’d probably have you overseeing torture of defiant rebels, commanding armies of mass chaos, living in the lap of luxury in some penthouse somewhere – the works.” Her devious snicker was contagious, and he found himself smiling along with her.

There was that bloom in his gut again. He shut it down quick and poked at his food.

“Those are some pretty sweet lies, Dr. D,” noted his dinner guest, shaking her head though still smirking even as his faltered. “But this could be fun. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us if you’re going to make you any sort of king.”

“You bet we do,” he agreed, and popped an entire meatball in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to speak for a while.

Which, regrettably, he wound up choking on. He was given a heavy thump on the back and handed a glass of water. It was hard to be thankful when the _fearsome partner in crime_ chortled at his plight. _Heartless_ partner, more like. He found it impossible to look her in the eye again for some time after.

He couldn’t be sure if dinner was unnecessary in smoothing out whatever disruption he’d caused with the whole garage incident, but she seemed in a better mood than when she’d come skulking in at least. It could be justified anyway, since he was past due for decent meal, but just seeing her go for a second slice of garlic bread almost made it worthwhile. He wasn’t entirely convinced she’d forgiven him, though he hoped she had. He still wouldn’t put it past her to return the gesture eventually, only her strike was bound to hurt far worse than the brash swipe he’d taken at her.

Normally, Drakken avoided lingering in the living room when she was there, but her cagey glances had lessened, and she was flashing wry little smiles now, and sharing with him an account her little stint back in Go City. It was hard not to settle into his recliner while she tucked herself into a nearest corner of the couch to give her report. She promised she’d removed the license plates before leading police on a chase so they couldn’t trace it to him, and that was fine and all, but an offhanded mumble of praise when she bit into a glazed devil’s food muffin must have been the highlight of his evening. It was a close second to receiving a jet anyway.

When she fell asleep stretched across his couch ten minutes into a new episode of _Space Passage,_ Drakken didn’t have it in him to wake her to make her go back to her own room like a decent human being. She’d just driven all the way to the opposite coast and hijacked a jet all on her own. She deserved some undisturbed rest. He suspected she’d get up after a catnap and mosey off anyway.

Come morning, Drakken had just about forgotten she’d crashed in front of the TV, which was still on, and his initial response was surprise and discomfort of finding someone asleep in his own apartment-esque personal living space. The shock subsided, and he was left with the confliction of realizing how inexplicably _nice_ it was for her of all people to be the last person he saw before he went to bed and the first person when he rose. He supposed he might like the sight of any pretty girl crashing on his couch though, even if she was a little less than lovely with disheveled hair and rumpled grey sweats and sweater from last night.

Drakken pulled his robe tighter, wondering if he ought to change into something more respectable than fleece, but the next order of business on his daily agenda was a stronger pull. He set the coffee to brew and hurried back to his room to dress for good measure, finding himself standing in his closet for a minute too long before scoffing to himself for pausing to consider his appearance. His day was destined to be spent overseeing henchmen in the garage, so he grabbed anything that wouldn’t cost much to replace if ruined, even if it was less than professional. The impulse to stop in front of a mirror to wonder if a black crew-neck was too loose on him was resisted as he hurried out, stuffing his shirt into the waist of his trousers.

He didn’t mean to slam his bedroom door in his own aggravation, and he winced, eyes daring to the couch, and breathed a sigh of relief to find Shego hadn’t stirred.

While Drakken busied himself in the kitchen again, taking her into account and making extra flapjacks to err on the side of caution, he had to wonder if the snake asleep on his couch knew how alarmingly fast she was getting to him with wry smiles and little touches and snarky quips, or if she was only playing him to pass the time. He had to wonder as well if he’d ever shake the ingrained fear of the latter. Whatever the case, letting himself play right into her hands was not an option, especially not when her hands were dangerous.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as the young woman groggily sat up, groaning about bright lights. Her hair fell in a frazzled mess around her shoulders, face scrunched in displeasure to be awake. She didn’t seem nearly as surprised to be here as he’d been to find her. He tried not to glance her way as she leaned over the back of the couch for a while, yawning and rubbing sleep from her eyes.

By her glower, Drakken had to assume she was in a crabby mood. By now, that was decidedly pretty normal for her. “Good morning, sunshine,” he chimed wryly from the kitchen.

**++X++**

Growling out a curt, _“Shaddup,”_ Shego flipped him the bird before hefting herself up from the soft corduroy cushions.

She slumped into the kitchen a moment later, drawn in by the smell of coffee, and had to stop herself from reaching for another muffin and grab the creamer instead. She couldn’t help noticing his fridge was actually immaculately clean for a change. She’d expected him to fill it with beakers of questionable contents again over her weekend absence.

Once she had her mug, she was ready to leave to nurse a headache in the privacy of her own bedroom, but the blue man tending the stove beside her slid a plate of pancakes over in front of her before she could go anywhere. She weighed the options of leaving it, taking it, or sticking around. She decided she’d spent too much time too close to Dr. Drakken already since last night – they’d chatted and watched television and laughed and that in itself was enough to make her shudder now – so she sheepishly took the offering and retreated to her room without so much as a _thank you._ She felt a little bad for it too, because they might have been the best damn blueberry pancakes she’d ever had.

As per usual, she would forget about the dirty plate on her dresser until the shame caught up to her and she’d sneak it all the way back to the kitchen, but that wouldn’t be today.

Today, she loitered in the garage with Drakken and his goons. The remaining henchmen were the ones he’d brought with him to Go City, the same three stooges she’d pummeled in the geek lab. Claiming they were his _best_ had clearly been a shoddy attempt to talk them up. It was almost disappointing the young fellow she’d had her eye on was stationed elsewhere on guard duty, but she suspected it was by his own choice. Any of the subordinates taking a shine to her was explicitly frowned upon after all, but she decided she wasn’t missing out on much. She could save mingling with the guys for the next time she felt like getting Dr. Drakken _out of sorts._

For the better half of the day, Shego took the opportunity to soak up the autumn sunlight spilling in from the gaping garage door, basking on the warm concrete with her arms folded behind her head. At one point, she heard a goon utter concerns to Drakken, and Drakken shouted irritably, asking if she’d fainted, then barked at her to quit lazing about. He was answered with an obstinate middle finger, and Shego smirked to herself when it was the henchmen to take the heat for it.

She only got up off the floor when he actually gave her something to do, even if it was a trivial gofer run.

At the grumpy man’s command, she grudgingly fetched his leather notebook from the kitchen, and idly flipped through it as she strode back across the hangar to Drakken. It was a fairly new pad, bound in leather, and there wasn’t much in it yet. Besides the notes on the power staves, her gloves, and a grocery list, she recognized a distinct feminine figure buried among jumbles of important-looking formulas that probably should have been jotted down somewhere better than a little pocket notepad.

She brandished the open book and teasingly cocked her brow at Dr. Drakken when he saw what page she was turned to. His face flushed that peculiar shade of purple again. Maybe she was pushing it when she held the notebook out of his reach and mockingly asked, “So the robo tits are cosmetic, huh?” There wasn’t much to ogle at in the chest department on the androids, but it was still an opportunity to mock.

The man echoed her in a stuffy nagging tone with curled lip, and tried again to take back his notebook. He didn’t justify his reasoning behind the bots’ chests, barely a step up from flat, but she supposed it would have been more off-putting if she didn’t know already that their entire exoskeletons were made of steel. She could worry for him when he started trying to manufacture synthetic flesh.

Shego snickered nonetheless, giving Dr. Drakken a moment of difficulty as she danced around him before he caught her arm and she surrendered the notepad.

She stepped back from the grumbling blushing man in favor of admiring the spoils of her treason. She scrutinized the beautiful family jet being meticulously dismantled just so Drakken could analyze its inner workings. Earlier, she’d tried explaining a little about it, but he’d brushed her off saying he wanted it to be a surprise. He was as giddy as a boy on Christmas enthralled by a new puzzle to solve, so she took it as no disrespect and decided to let him have his fun. She just hoped she hadn’t stolen the valuable plane for it to wind up a hunk of junk like all the others in his scrappy little warehouse.

She was about to ask what his plans with it even were when a small unfamiliar vibration low on her leg gave her a start. She stared dumbly down at her utility pouch for a second before snapping it open and digging out a compact wireless phone, the likes of which she swore she’d only seen Global Justice agents and other elite individuals use.

Curious glances were thrown her way, and she turned her back to them.

Up until yesterday, Dr. Drakken had been the only one with the number. He’d been the one to give it to her not long after moving in, proudly taking credit for the design until she’d called him a copycat. She of course had no one to ring up since they were a little too far out for pizza delivery, so she hadn’t had a reason to use it. She’d almost forgotten she’d stopped by a couple of acquaintances in Go City yesterday, one of which she’d mistakenly given the number to. The caller ID brought a smile to her face nonetheless, though she knew better than to hope the girl was calling for a friendly chat.

Shilo ran a hand over her face as she picked up, as if doing so would wipe away the mask of _Shego._

“Alex, baby, talk to me,” she chirped, ignoring the pang in her chest at the longing for a familiar voice. She would never go as far as to call the former-classmate a friend, but the delinquent was a reliable dealer who knew how to keep her mouth shut if one had the cash. And Shilo had certainly had the cash when she’d paid Go City a visit. It was almost certain the girl was still looking to take advantage of that.

“Hey, hon,” sang the junkie, sounding peculiarly sober. Her voice quavered, a nervous tell. “How’s life on the lam treating you?”

Just like that, Shilo wasn’t so happy to hear the acquaintance. She tensed, drawing her conclusion fast. The miscreant was known for being as carefree and bold as could be. _Nothing_ made that laidback gal anxious except for Shilo’s intimidating up-tight goody-two-shoes big brother Hugo who’d nearly ratted her out on several occasions.

She barely had it in her to put some pep back into her tone to disguise her suspicions, answering quickly, “It’s great.” She found herself fidgeting, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

Alex cut to the point, the absence of idle chitchat and musings raising another red flag. “I was thinking it would be cool if you could come hang out sometime,” she went on. “Or maybe we could – _I_ could take a road trip to come see your new digs.” More red flags. The dealer wasn’t known for prying into the lives of her clientele, her only interest was in their money, and never would she offer to go out of her way for anything. She was too lazy to be _that_ social. If one wanted the goods, they had to come to her, and bring exact change.

“I can hang tonight,” Shilo lied confidently anyway, a wry smirk quirking her lips. “Seven, behind the SM?”

“That sounds….yeah, that sounds great. So anyway, um, I wanted to tell you about—”

“Sorry, I’m sorta busy. Catch you later.” She didn’t want to seem too hasty, but she didn’t want to give what remained of Team Go a chance to work any techno-geekery magic to track her down. But the opportunity to make her big brother feel like a sucker was too great, and she smiled at the notion of what he’d look like tonight when he realized his stakeout behind a shopping center was a bust.

To be on the safe side, Shego incinerated the mobile phone. Dr. Drakken would just have to make or buy her a new one if it was that important, but she’d undoubtedly screwed up by giving out the number. Even if the lost signal might prevent them from pinpointing her exact location, they still had the area code now.

“You’re going to have to walk or ask politely,” came Dr. Drakken’s displeased warning, and she spun around to stare at him with a raised brow. He had his notebook open, tapping his pen on his chin in between scribbling in it. “I’m not driving you,” he explained. “And if you want to stay here, you are not stealing another car for something as frivolous as a date. You’re paid to steal _for_ me, not _from_ me, Shego.”

“Oh,” she uttered, and shook her head. “Yeah, no. That was…” Her lying mojo dissolved when Dr. Drakken’s eyes narrowed as he fixed a probing gaze on her. Shego sighed wretchedly as she crossed her arms. Honesty was in her best interest in this case, even if it was hard to suck it up and spit out her honest guess, “I don’t think my brothers are going to just let this one slide.” She nodded to the jet, half-skinned now and a wing disconnected. “They’re going to try even harder to find me. They just can’t keep their noses out of my business.”

To be fair, stealing a jet was crossing the line, but she couldn’t stop the resentment from rising like bile anyway.

The leather-bound notebook snapped shut with a tiny clap that made her jump. Dr. Drakken hummed in grim contemplation as he stalked toward her. “That would not be ideal,” he said, and turned a sharp scowl back at his two henchmen standing beside the open belly of the aircraft, nervously awaiting orders. “Lux!” he barked, and the pudgier of the two straightened up.

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Is your in-law still hiring?”

If remembering his name was surprising, then retaining any extra information about him was. The poor man was so stupefied, he didn’t know how to answer, so he gaped like a fish for a moment before shrugging and then quickly nodding unconvincingly.

Dr. Drakken barked an order for Shego to get changed and went straight for the dingy utility van, and she braced for an earful as he hauled her across town. Over the ride, his mumbles and grumbles gave away the course of action he was devising and reviewing, and though Shego had her qualms with it, she felt it unwise to argue just yet. She’d humor him, for now, but time would tell whether she actually went along with it. She really had half a mind not to. She didn’t like the picture his mutterings painted, but at least it didn’t sound like he planned to get rid of her entirely.

They were stopped at a light on Main Street when he finally spoke up, running it by her at last. “No one can blame you for wanting strike out to lead a commendable _average_ life,” he explained. “Going back to school to pretend you’ve gone straight-laced would make a good cover. For now you’ll lay off any risky criminal activity until they’re satisfied. In any case, it won’t hurt you to have something to fall back on if this venture doesn’t work out. It’ll be good for you.”

Despite his worked-up nerves, she was sure she caught him flick an almost sad glance her way. The night they’d arrived in Nevada, he’d asked her if she regretted coming with him, but something about that look had her wondering now if he was the one having second thoughts.

“Careful, Dr. D,” Shego groused tartly. “Being considerate of others isn’t very befitting of a man who prides himself in _evil.”_

He stared at her for a second more before the traffic light turned green and his gaze hardened into a frown at the road. “My motives are selfish, I assure you,” said Dr. Drakken, gripping the wheel tighter and gnashing his teeth as if to bite back a more severe retort. “I am _established_ here. I have to protect myself. Besides, you’ll go stir crazy if I ask you to hole yourself up, and letting you lead the hounds to my door would mean a substantial setback I can’t afford yet. I think it’s best you stay away for a while. I’ll still call on you if I need you.”

Shego studied him for a moment longer before sighing in reluctant resignation. That he considered her future without him, and maybe even her wellbeing in the present – it struck a chord, and not one that sounded right. She scoffed to make light of it though. “Are you sure you aren’t going soft?” she quipped. “Seems a little like you regret hiring me.”

He flicked a scowl at her, but then his gaze dropped, and that fleeting hint of remorse again was all the evidence she needed.

_“Ignore_ my brothers,” Shego snapped hotly. “I’ll deal with them if they come. There’s no reason to send me away.” She wanted to believe that, but how could she convince him if she couldn’t convince herself? His henchmen wore Hench Co brand uniforms for Pete’s sake. There was no playing innocent if Team Go or worse stormed the lair.

“Just do this for me to pacify your family, Shego, _please,”_ Drakken all but begged. “I don’t want to lose you, but if you present yourself in the open, then when they _do_ find you, they’ll see you’re doing alright for yourself. You need to make it look like you’re not up to anything sketchy.” His brow knit and his hands tightened on the wheel again. “And if they still try to take you, I’ll disintegrate them or something.”

Shego hoped he was only joking. She really couldn’t tell. “I don’t want them _dead.”_

“Fine, then,” Drakken snorted. “I’ll hit them with a stun gun. Better?”

Propping her elbow up on the open window, Shego leaned her cheek on her fist and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Just what makes you think you can _make_ me go back to school anyway?” she shot drably. The thought of going back to any sort of institution didn’t agree with her.

“What, would you rather spend all your free time keeping my chair warm?”

She frowned. It shouldn’t have made her face warm over, but maybe he had a point. Maybe it would be good for her to get out and have a life. She liked the relative peace as of late, but being a recluse and cooped up with him all the time didn’t suit her well either. She needed her fresh air sometimes. It wasn’t like she was very busy anyway.

“We’ll worry about college later,” Drakken added in a pensive mumble. “Think it’s a bit late anyway.”

She was relieved for that slack, but she still hoped this ruse wouldn’t last that long. College was a big commitment, but so was tagging along with him. Shego groaned anyway and shook her head. “What do you expect me to do in the meantime?”


	9. Distance – 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fee-fi-fo-fum, it’s henchlady time  
just fiddling around with the idea that there's more to henchfolk than meets the eye

Drakken never answered her question, which gave Shego the sense she wasn’t gonna like it.

A wrench had been thrown in the day’s plans. Instead of hanging around in the garage watching the boys tinker, Shego unhappily sat shotgun while the man drove her around for a while. He grew ever more frustrated by the minute, grumbling remarks like, _“They must have moved,”_ to himself. She had to wonder who _they_ were, but apparently that was to be a surprise.

She wasn’t sure how unpleasant of a surprise it would be when he finally made an exclamation of triumph and pulled to the curb at a café with a storefront that had seen better days, but at least it was air-conditioned, offering relief from the noon sun. Although a bit shabby and rundown on the outside, the walnut counters inside were polished and tidy display cases crystal clean, and the business must be booming for the small shop to be packed with customers for the noon lunch rush.

Dr. Drakken pulled Shego into line, and she couldn’t stop herself from giving his shoulder a solid thump, griping, “We _have_ coffee back—” back where? Back _home?_ Could she say _lair_ in public?

“Don’t be a pill,” hissed the man beside her. The line moved forward, and he cast glance down at her, his mouth quirked in a thoughtful way. “I think you’ll like – _gah!_ – what’s this place called again?”

_“Buckley’s Brew,”_ she answered incredulously, gesturing up to the menu board brandishing the company name right on it. The encircled bucking bronco logo emulated that of a familiar coffeehouse chain’s. “Sheesh, what a rip-off.”

“Right, right,” Drakken muttered, ignoring her criticism. He pulled off his glasses and whipped out a handkerchief to clean them, though it seemed more like anxious fidgeting than to serve any real purpose. “I think you’ll like Buckley.”

“Wait, who’s Buckley?”

“The owner.”

Shego rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, shifting her weight and bumping into Drakken as if that could get a better answer out of him. It didn’t. She huffed indignantly. “If you drug me all the way out here for _cocoa moo—”_

“Zip it, would you?”

“Buy my silence.”

“I would, but you robbed me yesterday.”

“I left you some.”

Drakken grit his teeth but it didn’t stop the peeved groan from escaping him as he shot her a look. He swore to buy her whatever beverage and snack she wanted if she’d just quit hassling him and step back. It sounded like a good deal.

Good deal or not, she was having a harder time keeping her patience as they neared the front of the line. Shego couldn’t help noticing they looked a little short-staffed. She also couldn’t help noticing the curious baristas cast frequent glances to Drakken. He kept his scowl downward, the faintest tinge of purple on the blue man’s face. He’d already pushed Shego out to arm’s length a minute ago, practically pushing her out of line, but it didn’t stop her from sidling up to him now to reach for the crook of his arm. He gave a small jump, the purple blush spreading, but said nothing more than a miserable, “I should have grabbed my jacket.”

For some reason, Shego, or Shilo the civilian, whoever she was right now, caught herself glaring up at him. “This is Nevada. It’s hot out. You don’t need a jacket.”

“That’s not—,” he began through his teeth, but she just about stomped on his foot.

Instead she linked her arm purposefully, bringing herself closer even as he shifted his weight to lean away. “Let ‘em stare,” she whispered over. “What happened to wanting the world to know about you, huh? Thought you wanted the attention.”

“Not like this.”

She could say she related, but she kept it to herself. Of the two of them, the man beside her was indisputably the one who stuck out most, like a big blue sore thumb, whereas she could pass as just _pale_ in the right light. “Get used to it,” were the only words of comfort she could give him.

They reached the front of the line finally, where the baristas’ staring and glances could at least be _sort of_ excused. Shego ordered her mocha and sandwich and Drakken ordered his, keeping his eyes downcast.

He paid and handed over a punch card, the _Jackass Joe’s_ donkey logo on which Shego noticed vaguely matched the one on the board. She wouldn’t have thought much of it had Dr. Drakken’s hand not landed heavily on her shoulder then, and she thought she saw him nod at her. Shego stood, left out of the loop and at an utter loss at the exchange, as the wary barista smiled straight at her while passing the punch card back to the coworker behind her. The other girl promptly disappeared into the back.

Shego strained to keep to her word and keep quiet as Drakken led her away to a table near the back to sip their mochas and nibble on club sandwiches a little on the dry side. He warned her under his breath not to utter a word of complaint. She almost scoffed at him and did anyway, but chose to roll her eyes instead and ate her lunch without a peep. She couldn’t help finding it odd he kept leaning to peek behind her, and ducking his head if he accidentally caught her eye. She almost teased him for it – but, true to her word, resigned herself to silence.

She tried to recall the last time she’d gone out to eat with anyone other than family. If she was counting sitting down to a table, then the last time had been with Dr. Drakken back in Go City. Henchmen had been on either side of her. He’d been a bit drunk and eager to get his chance in the spotlight to sing, a stark contrast to the nervous man in front of her now who tugged at the sleeves of his T-shirt in a pathetic nervous fidget to hide his skin.

The lunch rush dwindled away, and Drakken cast looks back to the counter again. Asked if she’d like a refill or another snack while they waited for Buckley. She shook her head and wondered inwardly if this _Buckley_ would be a no-show.

By the time Dr. Drakken was slurping down his third cup of overpriced mocha, he’d filched a newspaper from some schmuck who’d turned his back on it to use the restroom. Shego sat slumped back, still sipping on her first cup, while he busied himself scribbling. She couldn’t tell what he was circling and crossing out without leaning over and seeming too interested, but she could tell it wasn’t the usual crossword puzzle. After a little while, he heaved a melancholic sigh and folded up a defaced page to tuck into his pocket, discarding the rest.

It wasn’t much longer before Shego felt the bang of a slamming back door shake the café to its brick and mortar, but the slammed door wasn’t what caused the lights to sway and shuddering dishes to clink. Drakken shrank in his seat across from her and heavy footsteps announced the approach of someone huge, and before Shego could twist in her seat to look back at whoever was coming up behind her, her sight was blocked by a startling wall of floral print.

Drakken yelped above the scoot and clatter of his chair toppling over as he was yanked out of his seat.

Shego gripped the table, hands fizzling as she tipped her head back to look at the giant, unsure if this was a fight scenario. Drakken wasn’t really _screaming _for help as he was carried off like a scruffed kitten, though a few choked objections made it out. Intuition urged her not to throw a plasma blast at the giant’s back. She opted to follow close behind, barely catching a glimpse of Drakken’s strained face turning a shade of purple that was far from charming.

Past the kitchen and around a corner, and the man was dropped into a chair to wheeze and catch his breath and check the stretched collar of his shirt. Aside from a minute of discomfort and humiliation, it didn’t look like he needed the backup.

Shego hovered just behind him anyway, fists clenched and at the ready, but the brawny giantess in a floral dress threw herself down in an office chair far too small that creaked in protest beneath her. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Lipsky?” rumbled _Joanne Buckley,_ according to the plaque on the desk. She didn’t sound terribly pleased.

Dr. Drakken was a little too preoccupied with rubbing his throat and coughing to defend his title. He was still taking deep breaths when he flapped a hand back at Shego. “She needs a job.”

This was news to her, and she balked at him. He hissed at her not to be so surprised, and to take a seat. She did so grudgingly, though she wished he had run the details of his plan by her better, especially considering they involved her and something of a lifestyle change.

As it turned out, Buckley was a former professional henchwoman, proud valedictorian of her class, and although she’d found her true calling in coffee beans and pastries, she still held a beef with organizations like Global Justice and justice systems as a whole, which she wasn’t bashful about divulging. The burly woman was picky. Evidently, she’d been run out of California herself, but she still hired almost exclusively aspiring henchwoman awaiting their acceptance into Lowerton Hench University, some two hours from the Nevada oasis.

The notion of an _evil_ university in the neighboring state piqued Shego’s interest. She was regrettably not applying for it anytime soon if pacifying her brothers was her goal, and unfortunately the advocate for evil knew exactly who she was. Unhappy to have a former hero in her presence, Buckley was ready to ruthlessly boot them both out in true henchman fashion.

As the giant woman stood to do just that, Drakken held his hands up, begging her to reconsider. He must have been set on getting Shego a job at _this_ particular café if he was determined enough to cross the giant woman on her behalf, but she interjected before he could speak for her. Buckley sat back down as Shego explained briefly of the heroism imposed on her by Global Justice, hopeful it would do the trick. A long moment passed, the deliberating baker sitting back to rub her chin and eyeball Shego intensely. Drakken tried opening his mouth to vouch for her, but was silenced with a raised hand.

The resigned henchwoman shook her head and waved them off to dismiss them, at which point Dr. Drakken grimaced and hastily withdrew his notebook, tore out a page, and grudgingly handed it over to the comically burly baker in floral dress. She _almost_ didn’t take the bait.

Joanne Buckley held the tiny slip between two giant fingers, mouthing along she read to herself, then looked up between the both of them. Her pensive hum sounded a little more like a growling beast as she dug into a drawer to pull out a simple form to slide over to Shego, and then shook the note Drakken had handed her, warning him, “If I like this, your girlfriend’s hired. If not, you’d better hope I don’t see your face around here again, Lipsky.”

Shego’s pen slipped at the assumption, but she recovered and hoped the streak of ink looked deliberate. Something told her correcting Buckley was inadvisable. She almost regretted destroying the phone now, as she had to throw a questioning look to Dr. Drakken beside her to help her fill in a few blanks, much to her humiliation. Just as long as Buckley had her name and a number to call, it was good enough to her, the former-henchwoman assured.

And she sent them on their way, but not without warning Drakken one more time that she had better like the muffins or else.

As they left the shop, Drakken hung his head. He looked utterly defeated, but Shego was still too preoccupied getting over the awkwardness of the whole thing to care if he was dragging his feet or picking at the stretched collar of his shirt.

“My mother might kill me if she finds out about this,” he whined as he trudged along beside her toward the van. “And Buckley _definitely_ will if she finds out it was my mother’s recipe.”

“If it’s so bad, why’d you do it?” Shego scoffed as she climbed in. “Cow-n-Chow and Smarty Mart will take anyone. So I’ve heard.” Her younger brother Milo had worked at both – and been fired from both in the same summer, too.

“Yes, but Buckley is liable to be more understanding if I need to pull you away during the week.”

_During the week._ The thought gave Shego pause as she considered spending so much time out of the lair. She didn’t have the chance to weigh how disagreeable a set schedule would be for her when Drakken held out a folded square of grey paper to her.

“Find me those addresses,” he grunted.

“For…_what?”_ The words fell past her lips as she unfolded the slip. It was the page he’d taken from the morning paper earlier. Specifically the classifieds, brandishing a handful of X’s and O’s scribbled in one particular section under a very small catch-all header: _Real Estate_. Pickings were slim. In fact, only two _For Rent_ listings were circled, the rest needlessly crossed out for being for sale or outrageously priced. “Um. Why?” she hardly heard herself ask.

“Did I forget to tell you? We’re getting you out of the lair.”

Shego looked up to the frowning man steering the chugging van down Main Street. Back to the paper, and back up to the man. She held it up, asking incredulously, “This is a joke, right?”

“As much as I love a good laugh, no.” His hands on the wheel slipped with the sag of his shoulders. He looked sad for just a moment before squaring his shoulders and sitting rigid. “Just give me the first address. I think it’s the nearest one.”

Tearing her eyes away from her blue companion, she shook out the paper to give it her attention instead. “It’s a two bedroom,” she announced. “What, are you moving in with me?”

“No, but you might consider a roommate. I’m not covering your rent.”

She shook her head with a grimace. “Then I’ll pass,” she muttered to herself. The thought of an unoccupied room reminding her she was alone was just too depressing. Ironic, given how long she’d longed to get away from a full house. She didn’t know how she’d afford it anyway, and in any case it was no-smoking. Out of spite for the criteria and ignoring the glare he shot her way, she fished a smashed carton from the pocket of her jeans and lit up a cigarette as she gave her escort directions to a studio for a fraction of the cost.

Although the apartments allowed the freedom of pets and smoking, Shego could understand why the new listing was so cheap as Drakken parked the van at the curb out front. The dirty grey chipping paint and weathered streaks of dirt and moss on the motel-style two-story made _Buckley’s Brew_ look like it stood in its prime. The staircases and breezeways were cold shades of concrete and wrought iron, leading to four apartments.

Shego glanced back to the paper, muttering, “Isn’t there a number to call?”

“Are you stalling?”

_“No!” _she defended a little less than convincingly. Drakken cocked his brow critically at her as he cut the engine and unbuckled himself. “It’s just – this place looks like it has roaches.”

“Oh, _boo-hoo._ Come on, out you go.” He reached across to unbuckle her belt for her.

It didn’t make her any less reluctant to exit the van and approach the unwelcoming building. It shouldn’t have set with her worse than the lair, but maybe it was the fact she was _just_ getting used to the lair. And now she was being kicked out, more or less. “I don’t have a say in this, do I?” she wondered as she cut across the lawn behind her boss.

“The two-bedroom is still available,” he reminded with a glance over his shoulder. Restrictions aside, the two-bedroom was certainly more tempting now. But they were already here, and Drakken was already ringing the doorbell of a door hung with a sign reading _Office._

Shego braced herself for the worst slumlord conceivable, but it was quickly driven away by the sound of little yapping dogs, and blessedly dismissed when the door opened to a graying senior woman who took one peek out the door, pulled a shocked and almost disgusted face at the blue man standing outside, and slammed it. Drakken shot a glare over his shoulder at Shego when she had to stifle a snicker behind her hand, and then he roughly pulled her up to stand beside him.

The door opened again a moment later with the jingle of the chain coming undone, but Drakken was still chafed as he nudged Shego ahead of him, uttering a grumble of encouragement, _“Go on.”_

“Uhm,” was all Shego could get out of her mouth as she glanced down to the classifieds that had been crushed in her hands. She took a deep breath to cool them before the paper could go up in flames and she could blow her chances here. A vague sense of guilt panged in her gut at the worry she might inadvertently burn it down eventually. Back at the lair, the worst she had to worry about so far were burned sheets, which she’d had to replace twice already.

The little woman was nice enough, though she smelled too strongly of roses and dogs. Once Shilo had reassured Mrs. Landlady three times over that the standoffish blue freak behind her was not interested in the place, she was a little more welcoming. Hero etiquette urged Shilo to assist the senior up the stairs to the available room, but the rogue doctor stood at the bottom, glowering up at her in a judgy way, so she kept her hands to herself.

The studio at the upper right was small, but it offered a bathroom, kitchen, and a place to sleep. It even came with a new microwave. It was a little musty from being closed up for a week, there were some spiders to evict, the wallpaper was stained with nicotine and a roof leak, and the primary light fixture didn’t work.

Drakken appeared at her side then, muttering, “I can fix that.”

Shilo jumped, nearly elbowing him in the stomach in reflex at the startle. “Leave it to an electrician.”

“I _am_ an electrician,” he scoffed indignantly.

“You can’t be a doctor _and_ an electrician.”

“Don’t underestimate me. I work with wires and electricity, don’t I?”

“That doesn’t count. Those are gadgets. It’s not the same. It just makes you a nerd,” she disregarded. But a smirk crossed her face a second later and she added wryly, “What are you, my handyman?”

Drakken raised his finger at her, mouth gaping to say something, but he shut it with a peeved grunt and crossed his arms instead. “Fine,” he said, nose up. “I retract my offer.”

“Oh, no,” chimed the little old lady in the middle of checking cabinets for pests. “If you’d like to do any repairs for your lady friend, be my guest.”

By the end of the day, the fixture was fixed, and no drywall had even been demolished in the process. What was more, Shego sat on a bed on the floor of what was officially her new apartment. A garage sale had been spotted on a parts run, which was all too convenient, and she’d tried to swear she wanted nothing to do with secondhand, but came away with a dresser, television, and a lightly-used mattress anyway. It was a start.

Shego sat with cheek in palm, watching the blue man flipping the switch, proud of his accomplishment, before she heaved a sigh and rose to her feet. Now that dusk was falling, she didn’t want to admit that the simple repair made a big difference. At least she wouldn’t have to invest in lamps for a quick solution now.

Drakken smiled at her and glanced up to the light above her as she skulked toward him on her way to the door, but his smile wavered and fell when she spared no gratitude.

“I don’t like reheated spaghetti,” she declared, tugging him out of the apartment by the back of his shirt so she could lock the door. “Can we grab some Chow?”

The man grunted. “Don’t think so. You bled me dry today,” he accused with a gesture toward her new digs. He pulled out his wallet to back up the claim then, giving her a peek at the lack of funds.

Dropping her new key in her pocket, Shego pulled out the twenty she’d snatched from Drakken’s wallet yesterday and shot him a small smirk. “I’ll let you get a milkshake if we can swing by the drive-thru,” she promised.

Although he frowned, he didn’t make a comment on the fact it was his money she waved under his nose. “Make it chocolate, and we have a deal,” he grumbled. As he descended behind her, something must have occurred to him, because he hummed curiously for her attention. “So, does this mean you’re coming home with me tonight?”

Her stomach flipped and she nearly tripped down the last step. On solid ground, spinning around to face him with her hands behind her back was better than letting him see the nervous tell of green glitter the way one might get sweaty palms. Her mouth fell open, but nothing fell out for a solid moment until Drakken reached her and arched his brow.

“I…I mean,” she uttered, stepping aside and hoping he’d take the lead so she could keep her hands hidden. “I’m not exactly all moved in yet, so I guess so.”

He didn’t really have anything to say to that. Just gave a grunt and got in the van, and the next time he spoke, it was to put in an order for two milkshakes and burgers from Cow-n-Chow. As they got back to the lair, parting ways in the lab, she finally offered a short thank you – for fixing the light, among whatever other favors he’d done for her today she might not have really fully appreciated – but it didn’t improve the glum man’s mood any. He just waved her off, muttering, “No problem.”

Back in her eerie niche of the lair, Shego sat on the bed she’d only just become accustomed to, eating her burger slowly and eyeing the room that was only just beginning to feel like her own. She sighed miserably, dismissing whatever wistful hope she’d had before of getting a television in here.

She packed her old backpack full of clothes, just barely managing to fit everything necessary plus her walkman and a couple tapes she’d stolen from Drakken’s collection, and flopped back on her bed to stare up at the stalactites. It was officially autumn now, and it was bound to start raining eventually. She didn’t particularly want to hang around long enough to watch the ceiling start dripping, she told herself, because she doubted the formations weren’t _all_ an artificial part of the villain lair.

A knock at her door woke her, and she glanced blearily to the clock on the dresser. She hadn’t been asleep long, just a few minutes, but she still rubbed her eyes groggily as she got up to answer the second round of knocking. It was Dr. Drakken, looking rather somber, come to inform her she had to be at Jackass Joe’s – or Buckley’s Brew, as the general public knew it – at six in the morning.

If she had hoped for a moment that the whole day had all been an unpleasant dream, then he’d just shattered it. She agreed, even if being awake before 6:00AM didn’t agree with her.

She should have known her days here were numbered.


	10. Distance – 3

Much to her disappointment, a henchman had been pre-assigned to haul Shego into town that morning. She never even saw Drakken leave his room. She knew he was awake in there though, as she heard him stub his toe and howl childishly creative expletives while she helped herself to his kitchen.

She’d been up for an hour and had downed two mugs of coffee already as she climbed into the red Beetle, but every fiber of her being begged her to crawl back to bed instead, even as the dread of facing the henchman’s illicit in-law kept her on edge. He assured her the woman was an absolute _doll_ compared to his tiny fierce sister, and Shego didn’t comment that she was _glad_ his sister was in prison if it meant she didn’t have to encounter her too today to make the comparison herself.

Over the ride, she couldn’t help asking a couple questions and getting answers. She learned from the chatty Lux that Joanne Buckley had catered to some party commemorating the “grand opening” of Drakken’s lair last year. Drakken had made the grave mistake of criticizing her coconut cookies. She’d dared him to make better. He couldn’t. Not on the spot, anyway. He showed up at Buckley’s Brew a few days later to present fresh cookies and laugh arrogantly in the stone-cold baker’s face.

Which had gotten him and his cookies ejected from the shop.

There had been no official verdict from Buckley, but Lux assured Shego that Drakken’s cookies were superior. Somehow, Shego could believe it, even after she spent a solid eight hours in Buckley’s café having too many samples shoved at her by the proud baker who barley fit behind the counter.

She was relieved to escape the sweet confections that afternoon. She’d expected the pudgy henchman Lux to pick her up, but instead it was Dr. Drakken, waiting at the mouth of the back alley with van idling. She offered him a half-smile in greeting, but he just gave her a frown.

“I bet she’s already selling them, isn’t she?” he grumbled.

“The muffins? Yeah. They’re a hit,” Shego chirped, and didn’t miss his whimper of regret. She reached across to backhand his shoulder lightly. “I’m kidding. I think she’s been busy trying to add her own twist to it.”

“It doesn’t need a twist,” Drakken complained. “It was perfect as it was.”

“It’s just cupcakes.”

_“Muffins,_ Shego,” he growled back at her, and made a disgruntled noise as he sputtered over a few words, threw his hands up in frustration, and irritably grabbed the wheel again. “You know what – forget it. I don’t care. Muffins, cupcakes, cookies – it’s beneath me. What kind of villain goes around _baking_ anyway?”

“Being a villain doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy life’s simple pleasures,” said Shego airily.

She sat back and kicked up her feet onto the dash. They were a little sore, but a day standing behind a counter learning the ropes and taking orders wasn’t the hardest work she’d done, not by a long shot. It was a good thing she’d had experience feigning smiles in her hero career though. She’d have a later start tomorrow, but the very idea she’d have to show up again made her groan.

She couldn’t deny the fact her blue boss had certain activities he needed to keep under wraps, but taking a job at an evil café seemed a little pointless if the goal was to get her brothers off her back. The one thing Buckley’s Brew had going for it though was the friendly front it put on. Shego tried to reason with herself that the gals there might not be the most welcoming, but they didn’t scream _suspicious._ With luck, Hego would take the café at face value and wouldn’t go looking into the employees’ backgrounds.

At least the studio should be safe from investigation. Drakken’s name was in no way attached to it, nor did it have any secret dark sides. Even if the building wasn’t perfectly up to code, her brother wasn’t so heartless as to bust Mrs. Landlady over it.

No sooner had she remembered about her new shabby apartment did Drakken clear his throat and ask, “Should I drop you off?”

“Drop me off where?” Shego scoffed, feigning ignorance. He made a noise as if biting back a retort, and she rolled her eyes. She didn’t have her things, so she’d need to go back to his lair anyway.

Instead of answering his question though, she let out a thoughtful hum to change the subject, lying through her teeth, “Buckley said she’d bring me coconut cookies as a housewarming gift soon. You ever try them?”

By how abruptly Drakken slammed on the breaks, Shego might have assumed they’d nearly hit jaywalking wildlife. _“Have I ever tried them?”_ he parroted scathingly as they idled in the middle of the road. “They are dry, and too crumbly, and—and—and you wouldn’t taste any coconut at all if she didn’t heap it on top!”

“You think you can do better?” she goaded, smirking wryly. Earlier she’d been just about sure she’d never want to see baked goods again, but the opportunity to strip the alleged mad scientist from rogue doctor to petty baker was too good.

A switch must have tripped in that head of his judging by the sudden set of his jaw and the swell of his chest as he took a deep breath. He blurted out an unarticulated exclamation then, which she was learning was a sort of tic of his, and cut the wheel to pull a U-turn the van was barely capable of. Glad no one had come barreling around the corner into them in the process, Shego breathed easy once they were turned around and chugging back towards town.

“What are we doing now?” she wondered, sitting on the edge of her seat as she peered over to Dr. Drakken. She tried not to sound too eager.

“I need some, um. Ingredients,” he admitted reluctantly with an unhappy glance her way.

_“For?”_ she pressed. She wanted to hear the villain admit it.

“Coconut cookies, of course,” grunted Drakken, and Shego had to smother a grin at the confession. She sat back, shaking her head, and dug into her pocket for her pack of cigarettes, but he reached across to pluck it from her hand. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chided. “Not if you want any of my famous coconutties.”

_“Seriously?”_ she whined.

“Yes, seriously,” he griped back, though he set her pack of smokes on the dash as if to let her decide. “I’m still trying to quit myself.”

Surprised as she was, she made no comment. However annoying and mildly inconveniencing it was, it explained his rule about smoking around him, which she’d just about forgotten about. More surprisingly was her next impulse being to swipe the pack off the dash, stuffing it out of sight and out of mind back in her pocket before the frowning man could glance woefully at it again. She just didn’t want to have to share, so she told herself, ignoring the driver relaxing slightly now that the temptation was out of his sight.

She was undermining him enough for one day, she decided. She didn’t have to tempt him into breaking whatever health resolutions he may have too. She considered waiting outside the Smarty Mart so she could indulge in her bad habits alone while he ran inside, but found herself on his heels instead.

On the way in, Drakken yanked a cart out with a glower shot at her, and Shego had the funny feeling he was trying to make some point. She remembered the last time they’d been here, and scoffed to herself with a halfhearted eye roll at the man trying to maintain his position in control of the grocery cart. Just to tweak him a little, she skipped a few paces ahead to grab the front of the basket to guide it.

She flicked a wry smirk to the man frowning at her back, but he dropped his eyes and tugged at the hems of his gloves, as if it weren’t enough he wore a jacket with his suit on another 90 degree day.

When she idly wondered if he had a grocery list, he tapped his noggin and swore he had his _coconutties_ recipe memorized, even if admitting so made his ears tinge purple a little bit. Shego chuckled lightly and fell back to fall into step with him, if only to elbow him in the ribs and commend him on the ability to memorize useless trivia, though she did make a point to add, “Just hope there’s more in that big head of yours than recipes and karaoke.”

Drakken snorted at her and veered the cart sharply down an aisle. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he bitterly assured her.

Though she hoped she would soon, she didn’t comment.

She was distracted anyway, trying to pull the cart along to keep him moving as he cast a glance to freezers of TV dinners. As if it were a game of tug-o-war, he jerked the cart back to hold it steady, and he couldn’t ignore her look as he stopped to throw a few ready-made meals in the cart.

_“What?”_ he barked at her. “I don’t always have time to cook.”

“Yet you have time to bake,” she criticized, and gestured to the freezers. “This stuff is garbage and you know it. And you’re not saving anything by it. Trust me, I had to budget and shop for my whole family, and they _always_ wanted this junk. You can do without dinosaur chicken nuggets.”

The man yanked the cart back from her once again and he slumped heavily on it, tapping his chin. “Remind me, what was that you said, Shego?” he shot. “About life’s simple pleasures?”

At the sound of her name – alias – _whatever_ – she tensed, and he didn’t seem to know what was coming in the two strides it took her to reach for his ear and yank him down. _“Do not_ call me that in public,” she warned tersely.

Drakken whined through grit teeth as he reached to pry her fingers from his ear, hissing, “Ow, ow, ow! Stop it, Sheg—_gah!”_ She did let go, but gave him a rough shove for good measure that nearly sent him falling into the freezer. He stumbled, caught himself, and rubbed his sore ear as he fixed her in a heated scowl. “You realize you’ve never given me your name, don’t you?”

She hadn’t? She couldn’t be sure. She knew she’d signed it on the contract a while ago, and she’d written it in plain print in front of him on Buckley’s form yesterday, which he might not have actually noticed as she didn’t think he’d even looked at it – but – surely he’d at least heard someone call her by name.

After all this time despising secret identities, it had never occurred to her to correct him before. There was something pleasantly _devious_ about hearing the alias from the mouth of a villain ally anyway. But right now, she really didn’t need someone overhearing _Shego_ and recognizing her when it was her stage name being broadcasted with a monetary reward.

Yet when she tried to give him her name, it came out in a grumble under her breath.

“Didn’t catch that,” he informed, pushing the cart along and leaving her standing with nervous heat in her palms.

She stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she followed along. She’d shake his hand and introduce herself in a witty formal way, but she might burn his glove doing so. “Shilo Gough,” she said curtly after a moment of matching his pace.

“That can’t be your real name.”

“I don’t really take you for an Andrew,” she noted.

Andrew Lipsky, also known as Dr. Drakken, shot her a frown. “Rightfully so, because no one calls me that,” he informed.

“Whatever, Andy.”

“Getting warmer.”

“Drew?”

His glaring cracked with the barest hint of a smile, but he didn’t aim it at her. “Very good, apprentice,” he quipped with mock praise. Quick to dodge her retort, ear pinch, or glower, he took three hasty steps ahead to lean on the cart to coast, only to nearly flip it on himself and resign to walking it instead.

Drakken cleared his throat as Shilo caught up to him again. “How much time do you plan to spend back at the – my – uhm,” he stuttered, and wiped a hand over his mouth before starting over. “You have afternoons and weekends off, don’t you?” he wondered as if to make idle chitchat.

“Unless I have to cover for someone,” she confirmed with a grimace.

He nodded and hummed thoughtfully before turning down an aisle of baking goods. Shilo crossed her arms while he hem-hawed over the scarce selection of shredded coconut, and she shifted her weight, becoming more aware by the moment how achy her feet really were by now. Finding new shoes should have been priority – she _could_ wander off with the promise of finding him in a few minutes – but instead the cart drew her eye.

She found herself fidgeting, stacking and moving aside his week’s allotment of microwaveable junk food. Rarely had she been shopping herself without carting around two little kids, so in her humble opinion, the cart was just a little too empty. As she leaned over the edge, temptation luring her in, she cast a glance up to the blue man comparing two baggies of shredded coconut with a critical eye.

Her mind was made when she decided a tortoise could shop faster than him.

Drakken spun, alerted by the metallic clamor as Shilo settled herself in the cart, and he gave her a stink eye as she reached over to pluck both bags of coconut from him. He grabbed one back and returned it to the shelf in the wrong spot.

“We draw enough attention as it is,” he carped, flicking an uneasy glance both directions down the otherwise unoccupied aisle. “Get out.”

“Nah,” she dismissed, leaning back and kicking the child seat closed to rest her heels on the handlebar. “You’re taking too long and I’ve been on my feet since six, no thanks to you.”

_“So?_ Don’t mistake me for a compassionate man, She-Shi—_eugh.”_ He shook his head and flailed his hands as he came around to push, shoving her feet off the handle only for her to pop them back up. He ground out irritation through his teeth. “You’re acting childish. _Grow up.”_

“Get the stick out of your ass, would you?” she retorted. “I don’t _have_ to stick with you.”

“And I don’t have to bake you cookies!” he snipped back.

As soon as the words left his mouth, his face flushed purple. He looked about ready to shove the cart and leave, but he stood gripping the handle, conflict written on his face. If Shilo had to guess, the conceited man was torn between maintaining his hardened villain ego and showing off his skill to show up a professional, even if that professional was a baker and that skill was something as non-evil as baking. Defending his talent must have won out, because he grunted and shoved on, ignoring her presence in the cart beyond a bitter grumble that she was heavier than she looked.

He wasted no time in filling the cart if it meant getting her out of it, but five gallons of milk was ridiculous.

When they returned to the lair, Shego had every intention of watching the show from the comfort of the couch, but the grouchy blue man took the bags she’d helped carry and shooed her back out into the lab, making a point to lock her out.

“Hey!” Shego complained in reflex as she heard the _click._ She scoffed and stamped a foot, fists balled up as she considered blowing the door off its hinges.

“Go play with the henchmen if you get bored,” he barked back through the door.

After a moment of glowering and debating picking the lock as a less-destructive means of entry, she shook her head and turned on her heel. The so-called villain had surely been degraded enough for one day, and defending this particular skill set had to be pushing his tolerance. So she left him to it.

Maybe _go play with the henchmen_ had been a joke, but she took it as a suggestion. Changed back into her uniform for the evening, she popped downstairs and cast a quick look to the CCTV to find the boys. The ropy one and the chubby one were in the rec room, of course, and the biggest brute was in the gym lifting weights to keep up his henchman physique.

It was a tossup, but ultimately she decided on the subpar buffoons, if only because the rec room was half the distance. Interrupting a game of pool, she called winner and pulled up a chair at a card table to wait and light up a smoke. She knew from past experience not to sit on the sofa in front of the TV if she didn’t want the odor to stick to her or get something sticky on her, as the former henchmen hadn’t been easy on the secondhand furniture. She’d tried last week to rally the boys into stealing a new one, but none of them wanted to take the unpaid risk.

She didn’t regret getting them sacked. They’d been a bunch of slackers, not that the three remaining were much better. Still, it had to be easier on Dr. Drakken’s wallet, she decided. She’d done him a favor by spurring it on. Keeping a dozen or so men on standby when she’d yet to see him utilize them was surely excessive. Three was fine. She didn’t mind these three anyway, since they had a healthy fear of her.

Shego bent over the pool table, just about to beat Bobby’s winning streak, when the door swished open behind her and a highly familiar and highly uncalled for wolf whistle caused her to scratch. She whipped around, face heating, and brandished a cue she itched to break over someone’s head.

The offending interloper was already being reprimanded by Drakken’s largest henchman before she could. Lars knocked the man back into the wall with a heavy thump to the chest, curtly warning, “Don’t mess with the boss’s girl.”

Her hands felt as warm as her face now, but she couldn’t pry her mouth open to correct the senior henchman.

Although it was standard for all of Drakken’s goons to wear red jumpsuits and masks, most of the time, and at a glance they might all look alike, Shego was positive she’d never seen this new one’s mug around before. As the eldest henchman made brief introductions, it became clear this was a new recruit – one who’d arrived early for tryouts, according to Lars. As she left, he whispered his doubts of the newbie lasting the week.

She didn’t care to linger and socialize anymore.

She didn’t particularly want to be in the lair at all now for that matter – not when rumors like that were going around. _Boss’s girl_ rang in her ears as she dressed down quickly into civilian wear and folded up her uniform tightly to stuff in her bag along the rest of her personal belongings. It was getting late anyway, she assured herself as she mentally prepared herself to hoof it to some apartment in some unfamiliar end of town.

Preoccupied with praying she wouldn’t get lost in the dark on the way, she didn’t notice the door to Dr. Drakken’s quarters open up, though the sweet buttery aroma of coconutties wafting into the lab made her hasten her pace as she cut through.


	11. Distance – 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
Dino nugget scene...aaahahaaa :'B  
Found on Tumblr at [Splice-n-Splice](https://split-n-splice.tumblr.com/post/189546622670/)! Remember to check [MidnightCaptions](https://midnightcaptions.tumblr.com/) for other Drakgo fanart, too. ;3

It was a few days before she went back to the lair.

In the meantime, Shilo stayed busy familiarizing herself with the bus routes and the shortest path to Buckley’s Brew, which was just within walking distance as long as she told herself she needed the exercise. She bought a few things to spruce up the new digs with what cash she had left on hand, like blinds, bedding, and a VCR, along with some provisions for herself. She didn’t like the thought of settling in, or waking to an alarm clock even earlier than usual, but she had no one but herself to complain to.

The henchgirls-to-be she worked alongside in the mornings weren’t the nicest bunch, but she should have expected that much. Shilo had her suspicions the reason for the snub was because they knew she was Go City’s disgraced hero Shego, though it was never brought it up.

By Friday, she was glad to make it out of the shop without clashing with either of the girls.

Returning to her apartment didn’t appeal to her, no matter how badly she longed for a nap. There was no air-conditioning, for one, and autumn or not, it was still sweltering hot. It made her miss the ocean breeze and the beach and splashing in the waves to cool off when it got unbearable, but the closest thing in the Nevada oasis was a sorry river that crossed through town, which was shriveled up to little more than a trickle this time of year. She’d heard of a lake not far from town, but she wasn’t up to making that journey.

By the time she considered finding refuge in the library, she’d already caught a bus heading to the other end of town. Maybe next time, she told herself.

Luckily for her, she didn’t have to kick the gate or wait for an attendant, as she happened to catch a henchman marching by in his sweep of the perimeter. The new guy seemed unsure of her, as if she were just some civilian that had wandered in off the road and demanded entry. He reached for the radio on his belt, but thought twice about calling for instruction when Shego narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms impatiently. “I’ve got an appointment with the Doc,” she lied. The guarded man straightened up fast and fumbled with the key to grant her access before she could rip her way through the gate herself.

The new henchman said nothing. Shego didn’t thank him, but he earned a glare shot over her shoulder when he stepped toward her as if to escort her to the garage. It was enough to teach him his place, because he quickly turned to chain the gate shut again to keep out meddling kids, the likes of which he must have assumed she was. Shego relaxed when he resumed his patrol.

The lair was a cool respite from the scorching Nevada winds, although it was a little on the chilly side. She warmed her hands and rubbed her bare arms as she made her way deeper.

The lab was shut down, although the overhead fluorescents remained on. Dr. Drakken’s favorite worktable was buttoned up to hide his pet project, surgical light off, and the computer screen was dark, though some lights blinked across the mainframe that doubled as a desk. An arrangement of crates and boxes of supplies had been moved in for a new project, but Shego could only make out heaps of scrap metal. She didn’t bother to unroll the scrolls of blueprints.

She regretted not leaving a spare uniform behind, but popped into her room anyway for a sweater before peeking in the office. Her shoulders slumped and she hummed, noting it was especially dark inside with only the hall light and the ambience of the CCTV system. Even the oversized fireplace was put out, which explained why it was especially cold today in the subterranean lair.

A check over security feed gave away the positions of the henchmen only, the newest of which she already knew was still making his rounds outside. Two were in aprons and goggles and heavy-duty gloves, grinding metal and working some sort of press machine in a workshop in the deeper recesses of the lair, while the pudgy one was stuck with janitor duty mopping the hall somewhere between the henchmen’s dormitory and the cafeteria.

It wasn’t the first time Dr. Drakken had disappeared without a trace, but it was still unusual enough to make her quirk her mouth and huff. His van was still in the garage, and unless he’d gotten a new rig in the past few days, no vehicles were missing.

She decided he’d turn up eventually, and moseyed back upstairs. If she shut her eyes and concentrated, she thought she might have still smelled a faint trace of coconut in the stagnant air. A little part of her gave an ugly twinge at having run out unannounced as she had the other day, and she’d thought she’d gotten over it until now, but the guilt crept back to drag her down as she reached the door of his quarters.

Shego didn’t expect to spot him lounging on the couch. That alone seemed unusual for him, given the time of day.

She studied the back of his head as she shut the door silently behind her, which may have been a mistake. His hair was plastered flat as if he’d just gotten out of the shower and neglected to towel off. Given his bare shoulders, she was hesitant to approach in case he was au naturel. It was his living space after all, and she hadn’t exactly been invited. Maybe she should have knocked.

Unfortunately for Drakken, her interest was piqued by his indiscernible muttering before she could make her escape. Over the back of the couch, she saw him raise one of the dinosaur chicken nuggets she’d chastised him about earlier in the week, and he hummed a familiar tune in imitation of last summer’s box office hit.

As she neared, Shego was relieved to find he at least had sweats on. She didn’t need _that_ much proof he was thoroughly blue from head to toe anyway.

Drakken interrupted the Jurassic ditty with a mock roar as he beat the brachiosaur nugget with a T-rex, dipped its head in ketchup from the plate on his stomach, and bit it off at the shoulder. The T-rex nugget got its share as Drakken supplied carnivorous sound effects around a mouthful, at least until he dunked it in ketchup too and popped it whole in his mouth.

It was then that Shego leaned over the spine of the couch to grab the plate from his stomach. “Oh yeah,” she chimed, selecting a misshapen nugget – she had to assume it was a pterodactyl – from his plate while he choked on his T-rex and just about fell off the couch in his surprise. “You are the _embodiment_ of evil, Doc.”

He sat up, pounding a fist on his chest as he coughed into his other hand. Coughing and hacking wasn’t particularly charming, but she didn’t let it dissuade her from stealing another nugget off his plate. He’d certainly made enough he could spare a few.

_“What—,”_ he paused to wheeze as he swung his legs around off the couch to put his back to her as he reached for his soda pop on the coffee table, guzzling it and gasping for air. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at Buckley’s?”

“It’s, like, three o’clock, Doc,” she noted around a stegosaur’s head end, and cast a glance back to the clock on the kitchen wall. “Three twenty. My weekend starts now.”

“That’s nice,” he said insincerely, and twisted around to grab the plate back. She held it out of reach and popped the rest of the stegosaur in her mouth as he grunted his complaint. “Get your own. That’s _mine.”_

“Fine. Here.” She forked over the plate, though she had half a mind to dump it in his lap, sauce and all. “They taste like cardboard anyway.”

She stood up and leaned back to sit on the back of the couch instead, ignoring the slight protest of the frame beneath the upholstery. “Did you always have the belly pooch, or have you just been in here snacking this whole time?” she wondered, casting a glance to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, baking pans among the mess.

Drakken stood suddenly with an extra-annoyed grunt and adjusted the waist of his sweatpants. “You missed out on coconutties,” he said as if in explanation before shuffling off to abandon his plate on the counter.

She let herself fall back into the spot he’d occupied moments ago. It was warm, if not a little damp. She didn’t want to try identifying the lingering scent of his soap, and shoved the appreciation for this particular villain’s hygiene standards right out of her head.

“Are you here to work or for my cable?” Drakken called from the kitchen as she flipped on the TV.

“Depends,” she said with a shrug. “Did you save me any cookies?”

“No.”

“Jerk.”

She didn’t mean anything by the offhanded remark, but it clearly offended him because she heard him scoffing and sputtering disjointed syllables. She wasn’t about to apologize though – not for calling him a jerk, and not for bailing or tricking him either.

A cabinet slammed, and she didn’t think anything of it until a brown paper sack was dropped on her stomach to distract her from the TV. She stared at the bag dumbly for a moment, but as she turned her attention up to utter something in question, she just barely caught a peek of Drakken’s back disappearing into his room. He slammed his door with enough force that it bounced open, and she almost laughed in reflex at his added curse as he shut it again.

She was sitting up with the bag open and nibbling on her second coconutty cookie when Drakken came skulking back in. She’d had just enough time to feel bad again for ditching without warning the other day. Tricking him into baking had to be awfully degrading for an aspiring villain she was supposed to be abetting, but given the discovery of being labeled _the boss’s girl,_ she was suspicious all over again of his motives and why she was here at all. She didn’t bring them into question, though.

Instead, “These are nice,” slipped out.

Now dressed at least semi-professionally with his black slacks and blue button-up, Drakken tugged at his cuffs and grunted as he approached. “They would have been better if you’d tried them fresh, but you looked like you had somewhere better to be.”

“Yeah. I did,” she muttered, drawing into herself a little without meaning to. Her hands felt warm. She really wished she had her suit, but consoled herself that she’d long since outgrown any combustion problems, at least while conscious. “So you got anything for me to do, or do I need to bend the rules again?”

“I’m afraid not today,” he announced as he passed by behind her. “But I’ll have something for you tomorrow, if you’d be so kind as to be here by nine.”

“I don’t like surprises, Doc,” she warned, tipping her head back to scowl at him upside down. “What’s the job?”

“You’ll have to be here at nine AM to find out.”

**++X++**

Just to spite him, she made up her mind to show up fashionably late.

Of course, it wasn’t like it was completely intentional. If she wanted to make it even close to nine o’clock, she couldn’t wait around to see if he’d send a ride for her, and it wasn’t like she could control how fast the bus driver drove without resorting to drastic measures.

She’d slept in a little anyway, after having spent the better half of the night awake in front of an oscillating fan, wondering what the surprise possibly was. She also waited to get sick from cookies she hadn’t tested on him first for poison, but the only queasiness she felt was over the fact she’d still brought the bag home with her at all and even nibbled on a couple more throughout the night.

On the drudging walk out of town, a sputtering rusty sedan pulled to a near-stop beside her. The occupants gave her deceitful smiles probably meant to seem friendly but instead invoked an urge to plasma blast them in their faces. She declined their offer for a ride, but they continued to creep along beside her as she made her way up the hill.

The car that came up behind honked their annoyance and sped past.

After the third rebuff and a middle finger, Shego hopped across the ditch to walk along the tree line instead, glad to have something between her and the car about to have its tires blown out. She had to squeeze her fists to restrain herself, finding it especially difficult to keep up the civilian act. She made a point to remember the men and the vehicle as it drove away. It was a small town, and she’d keep her identity a secret better if she avoided the hooligans.

Shego couldn’t help raising her brow when she saw two more cars wiz by. She was already long past the residences gathered around the foot of the mountain. Unless there was some party in the backwoods, she couldn’t think of any reason for the unusual traffic.

Half past nine, she found out what the hullabaloo was all about as she made it up Drakken’s driveway. The gate was open for arrivals, but one of the henchmen shut it behind her. All the vehicles that had passed her on the way up, plus a couple others, were parked out on the blacktop in front of the garage. The various strangers lumped together to socialize.

Flanked by two henchmen, Dr. Drakken was dressed up in navy-blue business attire, black gloves and oxfords to match his tie. He was looking particularly professional with a clipboard and shaking hands with the latest arrival.

“You’re late,” he called in displeasure as she cut through the crowd.

She ignored the remark. “So what’s the big surprise?” she asked, adjusting the shoulder strap of her go-bag holding her uniform. “Throwing a party?”

“Cute,” he snorted, and shook his head. “Tryouts. You’re going to help me assess these men.” He waved his pen like a pointer to them.

Shego eyed the lineup. “Wow, Doc. It’s only been, like, a week. How’d you rustle up ‘em up so fast? Mail order?”

He turned and all but stuck his nose in the air. “Connections, Shego,” he said, and gave a wave for the flock of henchmen to follow him.

“What’d you promise them?” she chuckled under her breath as they came around enter the garage through the side door. “A share in the spoils?”

“It worked on you.” He flicked a wily smirk down at her, and then quickly blinked and looked ahead again.

Shego dropped her voice further, shooting over, “Hey, I’m not here because I really think you can do it.” Which earned her a crestfallen gawp, and then he squared up again and glared at her and snorted and took two big strides ahead, as if trying to ignore her hot on his heels. “How do I tie into all this?”

“If you had been here earlier, I could have briefed you,” he noted.

He paused at the staircase in the foyer, instructing the senior henchmen at the head and caboose to take the candidates to the gym. He waved them off with his clipboard before turning to Shego, but held his tongue as the very last henchman, the early bird who’d arrived the other day, came jogging through the room to take his correct place in line.

Drakken waited for their footsteps to fade down the hall above before ascending the stairs himself. He cast Shego a sidelong glance along the way. “If you’re going to be picky about who _I_ hire to work for _me,_ then the least you can do is help evaluate them for me,” he said. “At least in terms of fight training. I’d like to know what I have to work with here, and you’ve handled enough henchmen to be a good judge of their capability, I presume.”

“Can I rough ‘em up?” she asked, just a little too eagerly. There were already two in mind she’d like to teach a valuable lesson to. Maybe three.

“I’d rather you showed some restraint,” sighed Drakken. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Sure she could. She’d had to subdue not-quite-villains more times than she could count without battering them, though she’d walked a fine line, and quite often that aspect was left to her big brother. “I can try,” she said reluctantly, giving her shoulder strap a squeeze. “No promises.”

She met Drakken in his office minutes later, suited up and ready to go. He almost said something about the gloves he’d specifically asked her not to wear, but he must have realized they were the old pair, as he shut his mouth again before he could whine about it. It would be too easy to forget about _restraint_ anyway if she were brandishing concealed weapons at her fingertips. The old gloves felt wrong somehow though – unpleasant even.

She couldn’t wait to get this over with.

Drakken brought a stack of manila folders with them to the gym. Henchmen clad in secondhand jumpsuits filed in minutes later.

Shego would have expected the chief to make use of the time by interviewing while she performed her task of testing the men, but instead he sat on the bench along the wall with the goons, crossing his legs and folding his hands over a knee. Despite his stoic stare, something about it seemed a little too _keen_ to watch the show. It made the hairs on the back of her neck rise, but whether it was over a suspicion she was being evaluated herself or just the fact she was being watched at all, she wasn’t sure.

Giving helpful pointers as she had before was different than actually putting the men to the test individually, but one by one, she sifted through them. Two didn’t know the right way to make a fist, while another was a bouncy boxing fanatic who horrendously overestimated himself and got a heel to the teeth. The remaining men were average, all except for _one._

The last actually provided a challenge. Shego didn’t need to peek at his file to know he was a trained martial artist, likely with far more years experience under his belt than her, though he wasn’t a master by any stretch. The lithe man still managed to knock her down and pin her with a fist drawn back in a feigned punch, but the pause he gave to mark his assumed triumph was his error.

The second she was pinned, she saw Drakken in her peripheral rising from the bench, but then she was too preoccupied with kicking the candidate back with enough force to send him flying into the wall beside the benches. His head cracked on unforgiving stone and he collapsed momentarily. Two senior henchmen came to the aid of the limp heap as he groaned and came around.

Shego lay back on the mat for another moment to catch her own breath after having the wind nearly knocked out of her, and then swung her legs to hop up. She pulled her ponytail tighter and brushed stray hair back behind an ear as she came to take the man’s file from Drakken. A glance over his credentials and Drakken’s notes, and she nodded, sparing a breathy, “He’ll do.” What the man lacked in brawns, he made up for in skill and stealth, a good teammate if she ever needed one for infiltration and theft.

Drakken grunted and took the folder back. “Break time,” he loudly announced, already on his way back to the catwalk out of the gym.

As she followed him, Shego cast a glance back to the last contestant to be sure he was on his feet and not looking too resentful. It was reassuring the guy just smiled to the others and rubbed the welt on his head. He must not have taken offense to her getting the last strike in after the match was decidedly over.

Back upstairs in Drakken’s quarters, he threw the folders down on the coffee table, and Shego sank down on the couch to peruse them for herself finally. There was the shuffling of glass clanking in the fridge and cabinet doors, and before Shego could finish skimming over the first file, Drakken was beside her and all but shoving something in her face.

“Open this.”

Shego leaned back from the pickle jar with a scoff, and pushed it away. “Stick a spoon under the lid to pop it,” she suggested with a shake of her head.

“They’re all dirty.”

“Then wash your damn dishes!” she barked back. The grunt he gave her might as well have been a whine. “Fine. Just – give it here. Cripes.” She jerked the jar from him to give the snug lid a twist and pop the seal before shoving it back at him. She wished she hadn’t though, because he stepped around her to plop down a cushion away and crunch and slurp on what he considered a lunch. She made a mental note not to get into his contaminated stash as she tried to ignore him fishing around in the juice with his bare hand after the third pickle.

Focusing on reviewing the candidates’ files proved difficult, until she sat back with a sigh and warned him to take his snack elsewhere with a reminder not to wipe his hands on his clothes or the couch, because she _was not_ going to put up with smelling pickles for the rest of her time here today. He glared, but complied.

He was leaning over the back of the couch a few minutes later. _“Well?”_ he grunted. “What do you think? Are they up to snuff? Or are your standards set so high this was all a waste of time?”

Shego sighed and shoved each folder aside as she sorted them and gave her biased opinion. “Don’t like this guy. Really don’t like this guy. These guys just suck, this one’s worthless—”

“Must you be so picky?” Drakken interjected with a groan as he slumped over the back of the couch. He was leaning a little too close for comfort if she could feel his breath on the back of her neck and smell the vinegar on it.

“Why ask for my opinion if you’re not going to listen to it?”

“Oh, I’m listening to it,” he assured, and she shot a glare back at him as he picked an ear. “I’m just taking it with a grain of salt, that’s all.” She had half a mind to shove his face away with a plasma-coated hand, but instead she scooted aside. “Anyway, I need that last one. He stays.”

_“Ew?”_ she couldn’t help scoffing. She grabbed the folder again to hold it up to him, to be sure Drakken was looking at the right name and mugshot. “Did you _see_ that dude’s hands? He’s got missing fingers.”

Drakken snatched the folder from her to double check the file for himself. “Cut him some slack. He’s a metalworker. I need more of them down in the shop.”

“Must not be any good at it if he’s losing digits. Just saying. And he can’t fight worth a damn, so—”

“Henchfolk aren’t all one-trick ponies geared toward combat services, Shego,” said Drakken in a long-winded sigh. “Did you ever stop to consider that? They’re technicians, and tradesmen, and – where are you going?”

“If I’m done here, I’m out,” she declared as she made for the door.

“Oh,” Drakken uttered, and she didn’t want to look back at what she just knew was a deflated pout. “Alright. Well – be here tomorrow. _On time,_ please, if you will. Nine o’clock sharp.”

“What for?” Shego scoffed from the doorway. She risked a glance back to him wringing his gloves.

If she had to guess, he was making up an excuse on the spot. “Ah, well, it would still do the lot of them good to have, ah…someone as skilled as you to give them some one-on-one—”

“Do I look like a personal trainer?”

“Well, you’re the closest to one I’ve got on hand, so you’ll have to do,” he retorted, scowling back at her.

“Fine. I’ll start with you. Tomorrow. Nine AM sharp. Be there or be square.”


	12. Distance – 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
Click back to Chapter 11 or click [[here]](https://split-n-splice.tumblr.com/post/189546622670/) to see the full image of last chapter's chicken nugget scene. :P  
Last part to _Distance_! Now to procrastinate making a new banner for the next arc… lol

Drakken lay blinking up at the figure above him surrounded by a halo of light. But she was no angel. She was a far cry from angel. As he gawped up at her, he came to the very sudden and very shocking realization that he couldn’t breathe. There was something very wrong with him – and that damn demon had done it. She’d taken his breath away – _literally._

She had some nerve to smile and laugh, even as she reached down to pull him up by an arm, sitting him upright. He made a weak attempt to shove her away as he fought against a paralyzed diaphragm to draw in air. Horrendous wheezes coming from himself drowned out whatever words of ridicule or support she spared as she rubbed his back.

She’d hit him – _hard_ – but maybe he deserved it. He deserved it for the smack he’d given her in the garage last week. Just maybe not so hard as to debilitate him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t brought it upon himself though. _“Are you going easy on me?”_ had been a slip of the tongue, but it was a serious question regardless of however teasing it came out. He’d known the answer though. She’d worked at a more intensive pace with the henchmen yesterday, and he was beginning to feel shamefully inferior. Until that point, she’d thrown halfhearted blows with next to zero force behind them in a lesson on blocking, moving just slow enough he could react after she’d explained what to expect and how to respond. Clearly it had been the wrong thing to say because she suddenly struck him in the middle with a jab like a viper to remind him what a real punch was like.

At least she hadn’t given him a black eye or bloody nose or split his lip, which had only just healed from last week’s robot mutiny. He was still thoroughly humiliated as he hung his head between his knees and heaved for air. He tried to ignore her crouched next to him as she reigned in her giggle fit.

No sooner was he breathing steadily again did Shego give him a rough pat between the shoulders. She hopped up, grappling at his arms to pull him up along with her. “C’mon, big guy, it’s not that bad. On your feet,” she said through stifled chuckles.

Drakken rubbed his sternum as he rose, blinking against the haze. “Glasses—?” he managed to grumble, trying not to look toward the shape of black-painted lips parted to flash pearly whites. Of course his glasses were pushed up atop his head, and of course she’d reach over to push them down because she’d been the one to push them up for safe keeping while he’d bellyached on the floor.

He glared back at her cheeky smile and jerked away the arm she’d been hanging onto.

Having the wind knocked out of him should have been a clue to call it quits. He didn’t know why he gave in to her goading to continue. Resuming the practice and letting her put her hands on him to instruct him on self defense was a big mistake from the get-go, but he didn’t learn his lesson.

He’d been knocked on his butt enough for one day, and even if there was a padded mat below him, it wasn’t padded _enough._ Drakken began to wonder if she was keeping tally of how many times she could take him down. He’d lost count himself. He just considered himself lucky she didn’t knock him out cold.

Breathing deep just to be absolutely certain he still could, he stared up at her blurry shape once more. The woman in green and black harlequin uniform knelt down next to him, returning his miraculously-intact glasses to his face for the umpteenth time so he could see her smug smile clearly. He glared past her instead.

It was then he finally noticed the gathering of henchmen lined up on the catwalk above, and he blanched as Shego twisted to look back herself.

Only two henchmen had been summoned to the gym this morning to sharpen their skills with Shego, yet the whole damn crew had come to spectate. They were chattering lowly among each other, passing cash, blatantly taking bets – on what, Drakken wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. Probably on how many times he fell.

He bolted upright so fast he nearly knocked into the superhuman leaning over him. He checked his watch – it was five till ten – the henchmen were early. And he had the sneaking suspicion they’d been there a while. Long enough to see him flattened one last time, anyway. Somehow that was worse than having the wind knocked out of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were there?” he growled over, tucking in his shirt neatly even though he’d be changing it in a few minutes anyway. Force of habit. He caught her sidestepping away, her face flushing a funny shade as she fidgeted behind her back, but the best answer she gave was a shrug to suggest their arrival was news to her too.

Drakken turned his glare up to the henchmen, barking at them to quit standing around and get to work. The two assigned to Shego came forth while the rest of the group split off to the workout equipment. He was conflicted between sticking around to oversee the session and hurrying off to avoid the peer pressure of watching his employees getting daily exercise he so regularly skipped out on. There was no reason for them to _all_ be here, all at once, and he had the queasy feeling it was Shego that lured them to the gym.

But Shego was a skilled fighter. She could handle herself – she’d made that abundantly clear, both to him, and to the whole henchcrew. Worrying about leaving her to them made no sense when her knack for fighting played such a considerable role in why he’d hired her in the first place. They were no match for her. If anything, he should be worried for his crew.

With that in mind, he tried to leave her to it. He changed out of his sweats and T-shirt and tried to unravel scrolls of paper to work on blueprints to fill a custom order, but his mind kept straying from the unfinished page in front of him. He slumped over his lab desk and scratched behind his ear with the pencil, his knee bouncing away anxiously.

This morning, he’d made a point to park out front of her apartment a full hour before she was due to show up at the lair. He’d been just in time, because the civilian Shilo appeared a couple minutes later with her bag of gear. He’d had to honk the horn to catch her attention, because she almost hadn’t noticed him, but he’d seen her breathe a sigh of relief as she turned away from the bus stop down the street to climb into his van instead. He’d suggested grabbing breakfast at the Cow-n-Chow, but she’d vetoed it, reminding him of their arrangement by graciously informing him he’d puke if he ate beforehand. He hadn’t taken her courteous warning seriously then, but he didn’t doubt it now.

Skipping breakfast thanks to her was the only reason he found himself in the kitchen rifling through the cabinets. In the back of his head, he could practically hear his mother’s nagging voice telling him to make a proper breakfast of bacon and eggs and all the works, but he tuned it out, especially when the phantom voice insisted he be a good host and fix enough for a guest.

Popcorn was not a balanced meal.

Popcorn did not need to come with him to the gym.

But it did, and he stood on the catwalk, leaning on the rail and munching away at salty buttery puffs as he watched Shego at work. After a short while, he became aware of chatter behind him, and cast a glance back to the array of equipment the rest of the sweaty henchmen were taking a break from.

He caught one nod up at him as they chuckled amongst themselves, and he straightened up and turned his stare sharply back down to the matted corner where Shego had been tutoring the two newcomers.

But she wasn’t there – she’d already crossed the gym and was climbing the stairs in long strides.

Suddenly his mouth was too dry to even grunt a greeting as he watched her make a beeline straight for him, and she paused just in front of him, if only to snatch the bag of popcorn from his hands. The collar of her uniform was unbuttoned and unzipped enough to expose her throat, and for a fleeting moment Drakken was inclined to shoot a suspicious glare down to the two henchmen plopping down to rest. But Shego tugged the collar open further, her chest heaving, and he saw the sweat on her brow and glitter of green fire over her skin and realized she was simply overheating.

She nodded to the door and strode off with his bag of popcorn. He followed, but didn’t take the bag back from her as she filled him in on how promising or hopeless the dropouts were. She’d snacked through a good portion of it by the time they reached her room, at which point she passed the bag of cold popcorn back and asked if she was done for the day.

He wanted to say no. He didn’t forget that this was Sunday, that she’d be busy all morning and then some tomorrow, as she would every day for the rest of the week. But it would be a little on the absurd side to order her to continue exerting herself on a weekend after earning a day off. He checked his watch needlessly, confirming it wasn’t quite noon yet, and gave her a nod.

Before she ducked into her room, she wondered, “You gonna give me a ride back to town?”

“Sure,” he answered a little too quickly.

She gave him a small smile in a halfhearted show of appreciation, and disappeared inside.

Drakken made a point to drive slowly on the ride in. Broaching the subject of a schedule was disheartening in some way. More formal than he would have liked, maybe, but it had to be done if he wanted to see more of her than a few hours here and there whenever she decided she was bored enough to make the trek to the lair.

By the time he dropped her off at the local library, they’d come to an agreement. It worked in his favor that her apartment didn’t have the luxury of air conditioning, because that was the excuse she gave for agreeing to come to the lair in the afternoons to work with the boys for a couple of hours.

Drakken had no qualms with taking a break from the lab to personally make the trip to town every weekday afternoon. It was good to get out for fresh air to clear his head anyway, so he told himself.

He didn’t dare set foot in Buckley’s Brew that first week. Thankfully the civilian Shilo could be found waiting faithfully for him behind the shop, puffing away at a cigarette more often than not. She’d roll her eyes and snuff it out when she saw him coming.

Over the next few days, he diligently oversaw Shego’s mentoring sessions from the catwalk, though he had the courtesy not to bring popcorn to watch the show. It was still a tempting thought nonetheless, but one he resisted. The men were all business, to his relief, and Shego had more self-control than he would have guessed. He’d been worried for nothing.

After training, she’d spend an hour either on his couch in front of the television, or in a spare chair nearby while he worked on his blueprints and began applying them to prototype instruments of torture as the henchmen gradually supplied the parts.

Friday, she voiced her satisfaction with the progress of the henchmen she was tutoring as she met him up on the catwalk. It brought a smile to Drakken’s face – he was sure he’d seen improvement, but he was no expert. He expected her to follow him at a distance to the lab as she had the past few days, but instead she skipped ahead a few paces and walked backwards as she questioned him about Friday night plans, which he had to shake his head and dismiss. He was too busy to be thinking about Friday night merriment.

“You should really get out,” she said in a chiding manner, swinging around to fall into step beside him. “And I don’t mean grocery shopping. You can do that tomorrow.”

“I’m not being your getaway driver so you can rob a 24-Seven, or whatever you have in mind,” Drakken sighed.

“I wasn’t gonna _rob_ anything,” she scoffed. It was hard to believe her when she gave a small laugh, especially when she shrugged and added, “Well, not really. Unless you’re down to dine and dash.”

“Pass.” He didn’t need to be banned from more businesses than he already was.

She was quiet for a moment too long, and he made the mistake of glancing over to see her chewing a nail and watching the floor in a way he’d come to recognize as meaning she was thinking. He snapped his head to stare straight down the hall again when she looked up at him and said, “You have to take me home anyway, so we might as well stop for Chow.”

“Actually I was going to ask Lux to take you,” he lied. It was reflex. It shouldn’t have been reflex. He regretted it almost as soon as he said it, but going back on his word was almost as bad.

“Fine,” she chimed, taking a swift step ahead of him. “Lux works. Goodness knows he’s a junk-food junkie.”

Drakken _knew_ it was reverse psychology. She wasn’t fooling him. Yet he threw his hands in the air anyway, letting out a noise of exasperation as he quickly stalked forward to cut her off on the way into his office. He gave himself half an hour to get the henchmen sent off for the weekend before she was done with her post-workout grooming.

It was pushing it, but when she came trotting back down into the office to ask about her ride, he shrugged and deposited a folder into a filing cabinet. The henchmen weren’t all _gone-_gone, but they were officially off duty and therefore out of his control.

She snorted and turned on her heel, calling from the stairwell, “Fine. I’ll walk.”

Drakken hesitated behind his desk before hurrying after her. If he wanted to stay in her good favor, then effort on his part had to be made. He’d taken her home – or at least to the library – every night this week, and there was no reason to make the exception now.

Cow-n-Chow was out of the question. She complained as he drove past it, but hummed in consideration when they pulled into a bar and grill instead, only to groan loudly when she saw the _karaoke_ sign in the window. No sooner had they climbed out did a red Beetle pull up alongside the van, and henchmen in casual attire greeted Drakken amicably as they piled out of the clown car. It came as a genuine surprise to him, and maybe not an agreeable one.

Cow-n-Chow down the street was looking a lot more appealing suddenly.

At the first sign of second thoughts, Shego – Shilo – grabbed his arm and tugged him along, smiling wickedly and reminding him, “This was _your_ idea, Doc.”

So it wasn’t just the two of them, but half the henchcrew too. Big deal. She still sat next to him. And when he went up on the platform to take the spotlight, he still had her full attention. Unfortunately for him, she had his as well. She looked him dead in the eye from across the room as she plucked a chicken strip from his platter to munch on. He’d stuttered and slurred a couple lines, but he still earned a few claps for his rendition of _Bad Moon Rising,_ just not from her.

He didn’t feel particularly dignified as he tripped down the stairs either, though that was on him for foolishly glaring at her rather than watching where he was going. His ego was taking a beating lately with her around. Judging by her look, he braced for her to grind salt into the wound, but instead she gave his shoulder a light thump with the back of her hand and rolled her eyes, nonchalantly complimenting, “Alright, that was pretty good.”

She excused herself to use the restroom then, and that was the last he saw of her until Monday afternoon.

She was found smoking behind Buckley’s Brew again, only this time she was chatting with a gal, one of Buckley’s henchgirl apprentices. Making friends wasn’t something he himself had been especially good at, but it was nice to see her give a hearty laugh at some joke and playfully shove her smoking buddy before Drakken ruined the moment with a beep of the horn. Her smile fell when she saw him – he shouldn’t have hated that as much as he did – but she waved goodbye to her coworker and came sauntering over to him nonetheless.

He didn’t linger as long in the gym to supervise that afternoon. He spent less time there on the catwalk the next day, but it was the same old dance as he’d been watching all of last week. He didn’t particularly want to be on the receiving end of her strikes, but he didn’t want to hover with an unreasonable growing envy of the henchmen either.

He had work to do in the lab anyway. She’d come and take her turn to hover soon enough.

At least, until Thursday came, and she didn’t pop up in his lab after the training session. He was determined to not notice, determined to focus on the special order. But after some time of building the framework and upholstering a seat in red leather, he yawned and checked his watch and realized it was nearing midnight and she’d never come around to ask him for a ride home. If he’d hoped to find her on his couch, he was disappointed, but he supposed he deserved her unannounced departure for not speaking a word to her since waving her off to train the henchmen earlier.

She wasn’t waiting for him behind the café on Friday afternoon. But he waited for her, no matter how impatient he was. He even risked venturing into Buckley’s to see if she was still working the counter, but when he asked about their coworker Shilo, the baristas there smiled nastily and feigned ignorance. He didn’t waste any more time there and left without ordering, although in hindsight doing so and tipping may have gotten him better answers.

He was completely caught off guard when Shego showed up in his lab hours later, startling him with the announcement, “Sorry I’m late. I caught a matinee.” It wasn’t a particularly heartfelt apology.

There was no reason for those words to wound him, but they struck him nonetheless. It _stung_ he wasn’t invited after she’d been pestering him about getting out on Fridays all this time. But he knew if he complained, she’d just shoot him down with something along the lines of, _“You wouldn’t have gone anyway.”_

Just thinking about it, he twisted a bolt too carelessly with too much force. The wrench lost its grip and a pop in the face had him instantly too distracted to give Shego a proper greeting or complain about the exclusion. He had a bloody nose to tend to, and her laughter to run away from.


	13. The Nature Of – 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a bashful mouse with little to say!  
I hope y'all enjoy this chapter as much as I do.  
Updated with chapter art at the end! ;3

No arrangements had been made, so Dr. Drakken didn’t count on a visit over the weekend, much less hope for one. Not after the cold shoulder he’d given when he’d locked her out of his quarters while he stopped a bloody nose, and later grunting in wordless dismissal when she popped into his office to inform him she was borrowing Lux and his Beetle for burgers and a ride home.

She’d given him a fleeting opportunity to take her instead, jokily recommending a liquor store and movie rental, and like a fool he turned her down with a scoff that he was in no mood to abet in her underage drinking. His face was still sore from the wrench, and he didn’t need her finding a way to bruise his ego further.

He went to town that Friday evening anyway, long after dark, to do his shopping for fresh ingredients as the phantom voice of his mother insisted. A balanced meal for a change didn’t lift his spirits as long as he was slumped alone at the kitchen island though. His appetite was too far gone to finish his plate. The extra serving was wrapped up in foil, bound to be forgotten at the back of the fridge until he threw it out next week.

Given he’d braced himself to spend his weekend in his usual solitude, Drakken was in for a surprise Saturday morning. Whether it was a pleasant surprise was debatable.

Slumping out of his bedroom, bundled up in a soft navy blue robe, he paused on his way to the kitchen and snapped his head toward the living room instead. The television was on. He just barely recognized the blurry colors and shapes of _Scamper and Bitey_ on mute. He never tuned into that channel, and he was certain he hadn’t left the TV on.

He blinked blearily to a figure clad in all black on his couch, fetched his glasses he’d forgotten on the kitchen counter last night, and crept over to take a better look.

It was Shego, of course, so not a total surprise. She was roughed up. Dirt on her cheeks and clothes, autumn leaves in her hair. One pant leg was rolled up to just below the knee, paper towels wrapped around a bloodied ankle which left a stain on the corduroy couch cushion he might never get out. A paper sack of cash and coins had been dumped out on his coffee table, some of it counted and stacked, but most of it in a loose pile and spilling onto the floor.

He had half a mind to shove her awake and demand answers.

He made coffee instead.

A few minutes later, he was given a start, as he hadn’t heard her get up. She brushed by behind him as she sidled into the kitchen, and popped up onto the counter nearby to put her dirty foot in the sink, hissing as she peeled away crusted paper towels that had dried to her ankle. From his spot by the stove, Drakken cast a wary glance back at her rinsing away dried blood and stuck tissue.

Watching her tend to the injury wasn’t conducive to making breakfast, and it sure didn’t help his appetite. It was the ingrained voice of his mother compelling him to cook at all, and if he didn’t have company, he likely would have skipped the most important meal of the day entirely.

He wanted to snap at her to take care of herself in the bathroom – he put eating utensils in that sink, for crying out loud – but she spoke before he could find the nerve to tell her off.

“Smells good,” she said blithely without looking back at him, as if she weren’t picking at scabs. “Whatcha cookin’?”

“Omelets.”

“Can I get extra cheese?”

“I didn’t say I was cooking any for you,” he bluffed, and flinched as cold water was flicked at his cheek, some of it sizzling in the pan. Cross-contamination crossed his mind and he grimaced, giving her a curt, _“Fine,” _in the hope she wouldn’t do it again.

“And extra mushroom.”

“Only if you tell me what you got up to last night.”

“I dunno. I got high,” she answered airily. Her tone was hard to read and he saw her shrug in his peripheral.

Drakken turned to her now to study her drying off with yet more paper towels, but, “High on _what?”_ somehow took precedence over his uneasy curiosity of how severe the lacerations were even as his eyes darted down to her ankle. He could think of only one medical clinic in this town, and it wasn’t open on weekends. Otherwise, it was a forty-five minute drive to the nearest hospital if she needed stitches from a licensed professional.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.

But he did. He even screened his henchmen every so often. Thoughts of the newspaper clippings came back to him, the nasty rumors of meth use and other dubious substances in particular. He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you don’t remember what you did last night, then I feel I _should_ worry about it,” he retorted as he stepped over to inspect her ankle for himself. “It’s not going to get in the way of—?”

“Chill out, dude. It was just weed,” she swore irritably, and it was a wonder she didn’t kick him for grabbing her leg to take a look. He swore he caught a trace of the odor on her then, and crinkled his nose. She shot him a dirty look in return and yanked herself free. “It’s not a big deal.”

Whether she meant the lacerations or the dope, he wasn’t sure if he completely believed her. As he glowered at the sheepish girl slipping down from the counter beside him, favoring one foot, he had the sneaking suspicion what half of her _too-high-to-remember_ claim had been a lie. “How did that happen anyway?”

“You really need to give me a key to the gate,” she grumbled.

“You tried climbing the fence, didn’t you?” he guessed, and took it as a _yes_ when she quickly shoved away from the counter to keep her back to him while she got into the fridge. He shuddered to think of her getting snagged in the barbed wire topping the fence, but it didn’t explain the leaves in her hair or why she was barefoot with dirty feet. He sighed and unthinkingly picked out some debris from the snarls of hair as she set about slicing creminis, at least until she shot him a testy sidelong glance that reminded him to keep his hands to himself.

Shego came clean on her own as he went back to tending to the stove, though Drakken had the sense she wasn’t telling the whole truth. She regaled getting high with her new posse from the café, eager to explain how they’d dressed up in black, complete with balaclavas, and worked as a team to rob a convenience store. She only came away with a couple hundred dollars, but she was content with it, while her friends had been high enough to be content with armloads of snacks they’d looted. Following the heist, she’d lost her shoes in the dark and fell in the woods while avoiding the road. When Drakken tried to scold her for making trouble, she cut him off, quickly blaming him for putting the idea in her head in the first place and justifying the mischief by accusing the 24-Seven clerk of being a creep and a pig. Then she chastised _him_ for not being there for her when she needed a getaway driver.

The account didn’t ease his worries much.

Nonetheless, Drakken fetched her the first-aid kit from his bathroom after breakfast and left her to tend to herself properly and crash on his couch again as he started his day in the tech lab.

Just having her asleep a room away on his couch was enough to ease the loneliness somehow. It was better when she woke up and migrated to the chair behind him as he worked.

It was a shame it only lasted for the day.

Setting her up outside the lair was feeling like a mistake, Drakken decided as he took her home that evening. He reminded himself like a mantra that it was for the best. He had to protect himself, although chaperoning her so often was bound to be counterproductive. Her do-gooder superhuman family was bound to show up sooner or later, and it was best he kept _them_ as far as possible. Which meant her too, as much as he was coming to hate the very thought.

When it came time to drop her off in front of the apartments, she offhandedly promised to see him Monday, but Drakken involuntarily let yesterday’s soreness show in his tone as he asked if she’d be waiting for him behind Buckley’s. He knew he’d made a mistake when she narrowed her eyes at him before giving an ambiguous shrug and jumping out.

Keeping her at a distance may have been his idea – but all reason and logic aside, he was certainly regretting it as he was left by his lonesome once again. He had to pull off a glove to be sure he hadn’t turned a shade bluer.

Technically, he _did_ see her Monday – just not at the usual meeting place. She was already walking down the sidewalk a block away from Buckley’s Brew, walking a happy-go-lucky brown dog all but dragging her along and chatting with a scrappy young fellow with bad teeth and patchy stubble. Drakken tried coasting slowly as he passed, but the civilian Shilo shot him a dirty look and a rude hand gesture. Grudgingly, he took the hint to bug off. She didn’t turn up later, much to his disappointment.

The next day, he debated even bothering to make the trip to pick her up, as per their agreement. But he was glad he did, because she was waiting for him this time. She was with one of her café girlfriends again. It was decidedly a better sight than yesterday’s, and he was rewarded for his effort this time when she climbed in, though she didn’t bother to put out her cigarette this time, choosing instead to wryly hold it out his way as if to offer him a drag. He glared and shoved her outstretched arm back to the passenger side.

Back at the lair, she performed the task she was given of honing his henchmen’s skills and keeping them sharp, although not very professionally today. Drakken was working on plans in his office when he glanced up to the CCTV across the room for the umpteenth time, spotting a commotion on the screen dedicated to the gym. He was surprised it took her this long to give one of the new henchmen a black eye and a knee to the groin.

Before he could consider going to the gym to break it up, the video feed informed him she was already making a hasty departure. So he sat back down and scooted up to his desk to resume working on the blueprint for his latest pet project – or at least pretending to do so. His feigned focus didn’t last long.

Drakken didn’t hear her enter, but remaining oblivious to Shego’s presence beside him was impossible when she grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him out of his seat at the risk of stretching his sleeve.

“Come on. I wanna get out of here,” she said coldly as she all but drug him from his office.

It didn’t sound like he had a say in the matter. He pried her fingers from his arm to give himself a little more dignity as he strode along behind her. “Did something happen?” he pressed, throwing a glance back down the stairwell. Reviewing security footage for misbehavior wasn’t an option right now.

“No,” Shego scoffed. “I’ve just got somewhere to be.”

“But—”

It came out whinier than he’d meant, and she shot him a glare over her shoulder, interrupting, “But _what?”_

Drakken cleared his throat and slipped around her to the step above. “It’s not time for you to go,” he said, straining to keep his voice level.

Shego offered a mere shrug as she pushed him aside to pass. “The boys and I came to an agreement to take a break for a few days,” she explained. “They’re sore, and I’ve got better things to do than spend my afternoons beating them up.”

“Like what?” slipped out in a scoff.

“Like hanging out my friends in the park and being a hoodlum,” she offered as if it was the obvious answer. “You never want to do anything fun, Doc. It’s _boring_ here. Call me when you’ve actually got something for me to do.”

Recoiling from the sharp sting of her words, Drakken shied back as she finished her ascent up the stairs ahead of him. He wasn’t _boring_ – he was _blue_ for Pete’s sake – and – and he squeezed his eyes shut, recalling the amount of time she spent idle and lounging around. He supposed he really hadn’t given her much fulfillment lately.

Treading slowly after her, he scratched the nape of his neck with a frown as he considered viable avenues to appease her.

Shego was quiet on the ride into town, and he himself was a little too sore and deep in thought to be much for conversation either. An autumn thunderstorm loomed, owing to the thick humidity, which didn’t make the silence any less suffocating. As the first raindrops hit the windshield, Drakken was momentarily glad he hadn’t been so cross as to tell her to walk, though he was still inclined to give her a cold shoulder for the earlier insult.

He doubted the cold shoulder was all that effective though when he was the one feeling snubbed and chilled.

When the civilian Shilo finally piped up, waving a hand out toward him to signal him, it was to tell him to stop the van – and then she was shouldering her go-bag and hopping out, something down the street ultimately more important than a courteous _goodbye_ or _thank you_ for the ride. As the door slammed behind her, thunder cracked with a dazzling flicker of light, and Drakken had half a mind to order her to get back in the van as he blinked away the spots.

It was just his luck she was jogging down a one-way street in a direction he couldn’t follow. He idled a moment too long, watching her go, and the honk of a horn behind him alerted him he was holding up traffic. He just barely caught a last glimpse of her ducking into an alley as he drove on.

Back at the lair, he got back to business, a new determination fueled by her insult urging him to work overtime. He impatiently ordered his scant crew of henchmen to do the same, visiting the workshop in the basement himself to hand over documents detailing precisely the parts he needed to complete an order.

The behemoth Lars overseeing the shop was none too impressed by Drakken’s deadline. He turned away with a howl of laughter that reverberated through the room and gave him a dismissive answer, “You’ll get ‘em when you get ‘em.”

As the head honcho, it wasn’t the treatment he was used to. He left with his face hot and hands balled into fists, and with the creeping suspicion that his closest subordinate’s presence of late had been gradually undermining his own authority worse than he could have anticipated. It was high time he quit letting her push him around and regain some control around the place. Keeping her at a distance was all-around for the better.

Regardless of whatever pep talk he gave himself as he straightened his spine and squared his shoulders to assume a respectable posture, he still found himself out of the lair first thing the next morning. He’d thought it through. It had been hard to sleep with the storm outside raging, the thunderclaps heard all the way in his bedroom in the lair. The resonating booms had echoed through the ventilation system all night, a good portion of which he’d spent in the lab plucking away at the latest ridiculous order that ought to earn him a small fortune.

Though the thunder had moved on, the rain illuminated in his headlights came down in sheets, quenching the parched landscape. By the flow of water on the road, washing away mud and debris, Drakken didn’t doubt the flashflood warnings broadcast on the radio. He was surprised the ceiling back at the lair hadn’t begun to drip yet, and could only cross his fingers for another year that the architect’s guarantee was worth anything. He hoped to be out of the hole soon, and idly contemplated the sort of lair he might invest in next. He wasn’t much of a beachgoer, but an island in the tropics sounded awful nice about now.

It was still dark out – especially dark given the unyielding cloud cover – which made the single front window of Shego’s studio apartment in the upper right corner easy to spot despite the distortion of the rain streaming down his windows. The light was on, which he hoped meant she was home and awake.

He weighed the options of waiting for her and going up to fetch her. He supposed he should have called, but if she had phone service yet, she’d yet to give him her number, he realized.

A minute later, he was ringing her doorbell. He really hadn’t thought it through. He’d taken a leap out of the van and made a mad dash through the driving rain, soaked through by the time he reached the staircase. The breezeway roof above offered no protection from the rain blowing in sideways, and for a second he was relieved his accomplice answered the door so quickly.

She was buttoning up a clear plastic raincoat, uttering, “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” when she suddenly leapt back and stared at him as if she’d seen a ghost. “What are _you_ doing here?”

What _was_ he doing here? He stood staring at her slack-jawed for a moment too long, a cold gust of rain striking his back making him jump forward. Civilian Shilo stepped aside to let him take shelter in her doorway, but waited for an answer. He cleared his throat to kick-start intelligent thought again. “I thought I’d give you a ride to Jackass – I mean, to Buckley’s,” he said, and tacked on the excuse, “I was in town anyway for, uhm. Some parts.”

“That’s…nice,” she said warily, and flipped up her hood. She peeked past him into the dreary morning. “But I already have a ride, so…”

Drakken glanced back. The only vehicle in sight was his old white cargo van. “Really? Because I don’t see it.”

“Well, yeah. He’s not supposed be here for another five—”

Suddenly he was very cold, and sodden clothes weren’t to blame. _“He?”_ slipped from his mouth before he could think to respectfully excuse himself for impeding. “Who’s he?”

“My getaway driver,” she answered curtly with a roll of her eyes. Her hand clasped around his wrist then, and he was being towed back out into the rain.

“I thought I was your getaway driver?” he uttered stupidly as she turned to lock the door.

“Only when you need me to be your _errand girl,”_ she reminded with a note of resent, voice rising above the clamor of the heavy rainfall.

“Oh.” Drakken blinked at the blurry shape of the girl in the clear slicker ahead of him as she let go of his wrist so they could both safely descend the slick staircase. He couldn’t accurately recall the number of times she’d tried coercing him out to _do_ something, particularly activities that could get them into trouble. The image of her lying across his couch last weekend came to mind, her ankle torn up but the thrill involved in obtaining the meager sack of cash evidently worth it.

Whoever this _getaway driver_ of hers was, it was evident to Drakken he’d need to step up his game if he wanted to compete.

He couldn’t shut down the anxious tumult at the thought any easier than he could the stir of warmth nearly blotting out the cold rain chilling him to the bone as he watched her take shotgun of his van. He told himself hypothermia was to blame for the odd sensation, but his companion negated the thought just as quickly.

As he climbed in behind the wheel, she plucked the glasses from his face and wiped them dry with a rag from the console before he could fuss with his own impaired vision himself. He thought his, “Thank you,” came off as polite and genuine, but he might as well have insulted her by the way she crossed her arms and huffed.

It could still be hypothermia, he decided with a nod to himself.

Before turning a corner ahead, he couldn’t help noticing a pair of headlights stop where he’d been parked moments ago. He cast a glance to Shego – she was watching the side mirror, her mouth quirked into a wry smile, and he swallowed bile and kept his mouth shut to keep curiosity to himself. Even if he did feel entitled to know what game she was playing with him.

“Shall I pick you up today?” he wondered as he pulled up to the curb in front of the corner shop café. The windows of Buckley’s Brew were already lit up as the large baker and a couple of girls moved about inside, setting up shop.

Shego hummed, but then she shook her head dismissively. “Not unless—”

“Unless I have a job for you,” he predicted, and gave a nod. “Roger that.”

“I will _literally_ take anything,” she practically groaned. “Even sneaking into a movie or spray-painting the welcome sign into town.”

“That’s too juvenile,” Drakken whined back at her. “It’s not even that evil—”

“Fine!” she said, throwing her hands up. “Be a stick in the mud.”

“I’ll have something for you!” he blurted out just as she popped her door open. She glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow, and it took all his resolve at that moment not to shrink back under the weight of her inquiring stare. “I’ll have it finished – you’ll – look, you’ll just have to wait, okay? That whole downsizing thing really set me back. So just be patient, Shego.”

She stared for another moment as if sizing him up before giving an indignant huff. “Well, you know where to find me. I’ll be waiting.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And don't forget to check [Split-n-Splice](https://split-n-splice.tumblr.com/post/189663460865/you-really-need-to-give-me-a-key-to-the-gate) on tumblr for the full view of the kitchen... ;D lol


	14. The Nature Of – 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ponytail, ponytail, ponytail! Chapter art at the end! ;3

Steeling himself before he could be let down, he braced to see neither hide nor hair of his aloof so-called _partner in crime_ over the coming days. That was fine. He didn’t _need_ to see her, and it was probably better he didn’t. She was a distraction, and chauffeuring her to and fro was an utter waste of his valuable time.

It seemed as though the harder he tried to set his resolve _not_ to miss her, the more he did however.

The dreadful loneliness left in her wake was gnawing at him and growing worse by the day as he came to terms with how empty the lab felt in her absence. It was delusional. She’d only joined him little more than a month ago now, and about half of that time she’d spent out of the lair on her own. Yet there was distinctly something _missing_ without her stationed nearby to offer the occasional remark to his mutterings or pestering to get him out of the lair. Existing in a room alone was disheartening now, and somehow the humanoid androids waiting dormant on a work table only worsened the crippling sense of isolation he’d once thought he was accustomed to.

He could have easily ordered henchmen to take her place in the lab to lend an ear and provide conversation and some sense of companionship, but it wouldn’t be the same. Henchmen were adept at lazing about, but they couldn’t offer the same sort of banter even if they tried, and they certainly weren’t a nice sight in his chair and didn’t smell so pleasant.

In any case, the empty space served as motivation. Drakken blotted out any hope of his preferred lab hand strolling in at her leisure as he focused intently on drawing out plans on pet projects in between constructing limbs for the torture chair, determined to get the made-to-order device finished as soon as possible, God be willing.

Maybe his motives were questionable – he’d sure appreciate a better understanding of them, anyway – and maybe he was a little ashamed of the compulsive urge, but it was the ache for the stray subordinate’s particular brand of company that served as initiative to hurriedly finish the despicable chair riddled with hidden terrors for a loaded villain-wannabe riding on family coattails and cash from daddy’s casino. Getting paid was a good motivator too, of course, just a little less compelling than usual.

Drakken fancied the thought of hunting down Shego’s mysterious getaway driver to test it out as he loaded up the torture device in the back of the van with the assistance of a henchman, but there was no time for a road-test _and_ the thorough cleaning that would be needed even if he had the offender in his clutches now. He might have let an impish chuckle escape at the wistful idea though. Most of the henchman’s face was obscured but Drakken knew a raised brow when he saw one, and he quickly snapped at the buffoon to get the gate.

He hadn’t completely grasped how obscenely _early_ it was until the garage door opened and he saw it was pitch black out. He double-checked his wristwatch. Convinced the dash wasn’t reading wrong, he shrugged to himself and disregarded the hour.

If he wanted to make it in time, he had to get a move on it anyway. He’d already arranged yesterday to meet the big-shot today at noon, and there’d be hell to pay if he was late.

He’d informed Joanne Buckley that he’d be borrowing everyone’s favorite barista as well. Buckley hadn’t been terribly understanding, and Drakken was almost afraid she’d reach through the phone to wring his neck at the short notice in the middle of the night, but her good favor was bribed with a recipe for pumpkin strudel just in time for the holidays. He of course omitted that it was another of his family’s secret recipes. No one could duplicate Mother’s pumpkin strudel anyway, but they were welcome to try.

Completion of the order and a dire need to hit the road seemed like an acceptable excuse to pull up to Shego’s apartment in a shady cargo van at 4am. He was too eager to wait until daybreak, and it was a six hour drive to Las Vegas anyway, if they were lucky.

He was relieved for clear skies and dry weather this time as he crossed the frosty lawn, although the cold nipped him through his jacket. It was still favorable to getting drenched.

As keen as he’d been to hurry over, he found his feet felt like lead as he climbed the staircase to her apartment. The light above her door was off, a jack-o’-lantern beside it dark and ominous and grinning down at him as if mocking him nastily for the heavy feeling in his gut.

If he was nervous, it was because he was surely about to wake a volatile woman who could blast a hole clean through him if she wished with alien fire beyond his understanding.

With that thought in mind, he stood aside just in case as he rang the doorbell.

He expected nothing, to have to ring it again, to have a grouchy disheveled girl swaddled in a blanket answer – so the immediate barking of a dog wasn’t the answer he’d anticipated. Before he could even hope it may just be a neighbor’s – the landlady had some dogs, didn’t she? – the porch light came on and the door cracked open for a scrappy young man with patchy stubble to peer out at him.

Bewildered, Drakken took a hasty step back from the barking brown canine stuffing its muzzle through the crack of the chained door. “I-I must have the wrong place. So sorry,” he uttered in stupefied reflex. There were only four apartments. He couldn’t possibly have the wrong door. Had she relocated without telling him? The fear was quickly dismissed, yet he wasn’t comforted either.

“Shut that thing up, man,” grouched a familiar voice from inside – which only bewildered him more. Something heavy struck the door, a boot maybe, making the man on her side of it wince. “Who is it?”

“Uh, I’unno, some dude,” mumbled the scruffy fellow as he drug the snapping dog back by its collar and shushed it with a kick that nearly earned him teeth in his calf. The boy squinting out the door was either groggy or high, Drakken wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t leaving now that he knew for certain Shego was inside. “What are…who’re…?”

Drakken snapped out of his stupor and a scowl hardened on his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he retorted, and stepped forward. The young man tried to shut the door, but Drakken’s hand held it open, the chain strained taut. He tried to peer over the man’s head, but thought twice for privacy’s sake, and chose instead to call in, “Pack an overnight bag, sister, we’ve got business to attend to.”

He spun and quickly strode away before she could complain.

He’d been patient _long enough,_ working tirelessly for days now – but a little longer wouldn’t kill him. His jaw clenched against the cold the heater had yet to stave off, and his fingers drummed on a knee as he was kept waiting for no more than ten minutes.

There was a jolt in his chest when he spied the door to the second story apartment fly open, his assistant practically leaping out of it into the dark. Her hair was wet and plastered flat around her face and down her back from a rushed shower. She wasn’t suited up, V-neck sweater and cuffed jeans revealing that much, but her go-bag surely packed with her gear was slung over her shoulder.

Her company was all but yanked out the door and over the guardrail as she turned to lock up. He was quick to follow on her heels, pulling his mutt along on a leash, clearly displeased by the sudden eviction and hounding her every step. While Drakken couldn’t make out their argument, their bickering brought a bitter smirk to his face. He watched hopefully in anticipation of the punk receiving a blast of green embers, but it didn’t happen.

Halfway down the steps, Shego jumped over the rail to evade the dog boy. She cut across the lawn, marching toward the van with the persistent ragging droning behind her as the boy jogged to catch up. Drakken was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end when Shego abruptly spun on the man at the sidewalk, bidding her indignant pursuer a farewell by shoving him roughly back to the lawn, causing him to slip and fall and a confused playful dog to clobber him.

Whatever they were, they certainly didn’t come off as a happy couple, but nonetheless Drakken tried not to consider it might be jealousy churning in his gut as she laughed at the dog boy’s misfortune. He still took some comfort in knowing he wouldn’t have to share his hired companion for at least the day, and maybe a little longer if he played his cards right.

While dog boy was down, Shego took the opportunity to jump into the van, and Drakken didn’t waste time idling.

With streetlights few and far between, it was still rather dark in town, but he could tell she was scowling unappreciatively at him as she combed tangles out of her damp hair with her fingers. “I need more of a heads-up next time, Doc,” she groused. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Technically, it _is_ morning,” quipped Drakken, and she snorted with a roll of her eyes. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m making a delivery. You’re escorting.” He braced for her to tell him it sounded too _boring _for her.

**++X++**

Shego twisted around to scrutinize the cargo taking up much of the space in the back. She couldn’t begin to guess what the large lumpy indistinguishable object was, bundled up in a white sheet and strapped down to keep it from rolling around on the caster wheels peeking out at the bottom. For all she knew, it was a henchman being held hostage. But probably not. The angles were a little too sharp and numerous to be a human body.

An exasperated groan escaped her as she sat back. “You think someone’s going to steal Casper?” she mocked. Or maybe it was the ghost of Quasimodo. Whatever it was, it looked like a two-person job just to move.

“Possibly,” Drakken said airily, waving a hand. “I need you along to ensure I’m not cheated in this deal.”

“I’m just the backup then, huh?” Shego wondered with a weary sigh, but only received a surly grunt in confirmation. “Could’ve taken a gun or a goon, but _no.”_ At this hour, that might have been preferable, but she supposed the job spared her from having to properly deal with the interloping guest that had crashed out on her floor. The unexpected summons may have been a blessing in disguise. She’d been in too much of a rush to beat around the bush trying to clue the junkie in that he wasn’t welcome to stay all day.

“I’m sorry, did I inconvenience you?” Drakken sneered testily. “You can go back to sleep if you’d like. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Shego stifled a yawn at the mere mention. Her getaway driver’s car had been impounded no thanks to her antics, and she hadn’t slept well with the junkie sheltering at her place, too uneasy with the unsavory presence to get any decent shut eye.

Humming thoughtfully to herself as she leaned forward to survey Drakken, she suspected she’d still had a better night’s rest than him. Even for scowling in a manly sort of pout, his eyes were a little extra squinted, his grip on the wheel a little too slack. She swore the bruise-like bags around his eyes were darker than normal too.

The next sign of fatigue was an indisputable delayed reaction time, made clear before they could even leave town when a cat strolled out into the headlights and he nearly ran over the poor creature. A relieving shred of compassion shined through his rough exterior when he slammed on the breaks in the nick of time just as Shego shouted for him to stop and reached for the wheel herself in reflex.

Drakken blinked at the startled kitty scampering off into the dark and rubbed his head with a small groan. He might have mumbled an apology, but mostly whatever came out of his mouth was disjointed and indiscernible, but she got the idea.

Sighing heavily, Shego unbuckled and ordered, “Swap time, Dr. D.”

Alarm must have brought him back to his senses somewhat, because he flicked a wide-eyed glance to her. “What? Why?” he asked stupidly, as if she really needed to explain.

Shego reached over to put the van in park before he could object. “You didn’t get any sleep tonight, did you?” she guessed. She wondered how many hours straight he’d been working on the lump now covered in the back, but didn’t ask. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“What’s it matter to you?” he snipped in defense, and put the van back in drive.

“It matters if we crash because you fell asleep at the wheel,” she shot back. It should have been an acceptable answer, but he was still too stubborn, his scowl set on the road ahead. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Dr. D.”

That was the threat that made him grudgingly stop in the middle of the road once more, but not without a loud grunt of frustration as he yanked off his seatbelt. He stepped into the back to make way for her, and his gesture for her to take the driver’s seat would have been polite had he not been glaring so bitterly at her.

“To Vegas,” was all Drakken said as he settled into the passenger seat, holding a sidelong frown on her for a long moment.

Before they could leave town however, he’d tucked himself up against the door, popping the collar of his suit and tucking his chin down as if to stay warm. No sooner had they reached the highway did she hear light snoring coming from the passenger seat. He must have been thoroughly drained to go out like a light so quickly.

Seizing control of the van was an act of self-preservation, she told herself. Genuine concern for him had little to do with her commandeering the wheel. It was just a favor, and happened to be in her best interest.

Come daybreak, she couldn’t help peering across to her passenger to study the dark ugly bags under his eyes again. She found herself wondering for the umpteenth time if the man ever squeezed in time for rest on his agenda, or if he had some sickness she didn’t know about – though her money was on insomniac. During her stay at the lair, she’d caught on he was almost always awake and about long after she’d called it quits for the night, and he’d be up to tackle the day often before she was even out of her PJ’s. It was like he was mature enough to set an alarm clock yet still needed to be told when to go to bed, assuming he slept at all.

And come to think of it, he’d been looking particularly rundown since she’d been out of the lair. She wondered if her occasional late-night remarks to _go to bed already_ might have been doing him some good after all. Maybe the big baby _did_ need someone to look after him, Shego mused idly as she drove through her own fatigue. At the very least, he could use someone around to keep him from becoming so distant and lost in his projects that he forgot about leaving the lab for basic needs like sleeping and eating.

Shego frowned back to the road, scolding herself inwardly. As far as ensuring his wellbeing went, she was contractually obligated to protect him, as in bodyguard services, and that was about the extent of it. Keeping him company and making sure he took care of himself wasn’t in her job description. If she had any _moral_ obligation to, then it was just a misguided drive to look after someone, _anyone,_ she concluded, and blamed it on the years spent taking care of her brothers in addition to the hero training that had been drilled into her. The loner would probably take advantage of the fault if he knew she had a soft spot. That, or he might be so prideful he’d push her even further away.

Either way, she chastised herself and turned her attention to the more pressing matter of rustling up breakfast.

She’d had too much time to think on the highway. Even pushing the speed limit in the chugging old van, it had taken the better part of the morning to journey from the oasis to Vegas. She’d cast too many glances over at the crotchety man she let snooze the whole way. She’d even gone as far as keeping the radio turned down low or off out of courtesy.

When they finally arrived in Las Vegas, she found it was as busy as she’d expected, if not a little more so depending on what wrong turn she made. In some way, she was glad to have taken up residence in the little middle-of-nowhere town across the desert, because she certainly hadn’t missed the traffic of the big city, especially one whipping into a holiday frenzy.

Despite the new ambiance of a bustling tourist town, her companion didn’t stir even as she pulled in to the first joint she found with available parking space.

Chewing a nail, Shego watched him for another moment, half expecting Drakken to come around now that she’d cut the engine, but the exhausted man remained dead to the world. He wasn’t in the most presentable state, and she had the suspicion he’d overlooked preparing himself for any form of business deal beyond putting on a suit and tie. His hair was clean, but not slicked back or even brushed, and even his suit was a bit unkempt today. She doubted a wardrobe change into something more respectable was an option.

As she contemplated any other option to spruce him up, Shego reached across to remove the glasses slipping from his nose before they could fall, stealing a moment to take in the rare sight. He was considerably less geeky without the great big lenses. The memento she’d left him long ago was shown off better without a rim to hide it as well, which was a bonus for the intimidation factor, but unfortunately he needed his glasses to see, so she pushed them back on. His face scrunched slightly as she did, but he didn’t wake.

She dug into her go-bag for a comb and an elastic band next, ignoring the voice of reason that she didn’t have to dote on him. Because she wasn’t _doting, _and he wasn’t some kind of weird replacement for her little brothers. He was a grown man for goodness sake. She was doing this for herself, because she wasn’t going stepping out in public with a bedraggled man. The rumpled suit was bad enough.

**++X++**

It was while delicate fingers were fumbling behind his head, tugging uncomfortably at his hair, when Drakken’s eyes finally blinked open. His company hastily finished whatever terrible trick she’d been up to in time for him to recognize her face far too close to his own, and he recoiled in the same moment her hands left the knot at the back of his head. He reached for it, anticipating another damn braid, but found his hair tied back instead, which wasn’t much better.

Pressed into the corner, he opened his mouth to sputter something in indignation at her, but she hummed pleasantly and nodded in an approving way and his complaints died before they could leave his mouth in any discernible manner.

“It works,” she chirped, but he was sure he heard sarcasm. _“Now_ I think I can be seen with you.”

Before he could articulate a retort, he saw an attempt to give him a curlicue coming when she wet her finger with a pop of her lips and reached for his hairline. He clapped a hand down over the fringe and ducked away from her reach, fumbling for the door handle. _“Stop that!” _he snapped, face heating as she chuckled blithely and he all but fell out of the van. He didn’t need someone else’s saliva as part of his hairdo, and he didn’t need her deciding for him how he wore it. Still, he smoothed his bangs back as she climbed out the passenger door after him, and he made no move to tear out the band she’d secured at the nape of his neck while he’d been helpless to fend it off.

He slammed the door as she slipped up behind him. She must have been quite proud of herself, as he caught the cheeky woman staving off a smile as he checked his reflection in the side mirror. He wasn’t sure how pleased he was by the ponytail she smugly waggled between her fingers, but didn’t see a point in going against her over something so trivial, so he let it be. It made his mop look a little tidier, according to her, but he swore for the whole parking lot to hear that he’d lop it off if she told him it was cute one more time. _Cute_ was not something he needed tarnishing the reputation he was already struggling to forge.

Flustered, Drakken tugged on his gloves and straightened his jacket, and he followed his unruly subordinate into the café of her choice.

It didn’t smell quite as nice as Buckley’s, and it was busier and louder, but fewer people stared, either too busy to care about a blue man or desensitized to Vegas weirdos. Or maybe they assumed his blue skin was part of a premature Halloween costume. There was no telling, really.

In any case, somehow the fresh brewing coffee and sweet scent of baked goods were enough to boost his morale, and it reminded him he was famished too. He kept it to himself how relieved he was she hadn’t pulled into some Cow-n-Chow drive-thru for cheap egg sandwiches and weak burnt coffee, but he did sigh wistfully and dryly muse that he wished it was a particular spitfire behind the counter to serve him.

Although the comment earned him an unappreciative elbow in the ribs, the idea brought a wry smirk to his face as he ordered, and he made a mental note to risk running into Buckley to pop in at the café back home sometime to catch _Shilo_ on duty.

He had to wonder if being catered to could compare to the pleasantry of sitting across a table from her though, watching her pick apart an oversized blueberry muffin that sufficed for breakfast. It was the warm aromas in the atmosphere providing a sort of high that brought a smile to his face, nothing else, but she eventually looked up to catch him smirking in her direction and kicked his shin under the table to wipe it from his face.

Otherwise she didn’t mention his staring. “Chocolate man, huh?” she chirped. It was the first thing she’d said since placing her own order.

“No shame in that,” Drakken replied quickly around a mouthful, and washed down the bite of chocolate muffin with a gulp of mocha. For a moment, he tried to watch out the window as Shego had been, watching little plagues of starlings swarm like small black clouds to scavenge around the parking lot, but her unmoving stare on him now made him peek back. “Something the matter?”

_“Dr. Drakken,”_ she said firmly, clearly enunciating his title with a disheartening note of formality. He slurped his mocha uneasily under the weight of the suspicious jaded gaze fixed on him. “If this was just a delivery, we could be home by dinnertime. Any particular reason you had me pack an overnight bag?”

There wasn’t. Not one he’d really thought through anyway, except that he wasn’t planning to be home by dinnertime. And if luck would have it that a motel room was in order later – he stopped that train of thought in its tracks. A go-bag was just a precaution. It was _always_ just a precaution, albeit not one he was in the habit of taking himself. Besides, it was absurd to expect her to layer up to conceal her uniform every time he needed to drag her off somewhere. She was just teasing him. He could tell by the tiny smile quirking at the corners of her mouth he was determined not to glance toward.

Drakken floundered, gaping like a fish out of water. Did she _have_ to stare at him? “I just thought after we finish this errand, we could stick around a while and – scope out some places to maybe – um. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone to hang out with, and since you moved out, well…we haven’t really since then, and, um – you’ve been nagging me—”

He couldn’t even tell what he was trying to say himself, but somehow she must have got the gist of it. She turned her eyes down to watch the anxious fidget of his fingers before interjecting with a scoff, “Dude, you are so desperate.”

Her lips pressed into a flat line as if trying to stave off the smirk that inevitably cracked across her face a moment later when he choked on an indignant objection even less coherent than his plea for company. She was absolutely right. He was desperate. _Delusionally_ desperate.

She popped another piece of muffin in her mouth and sat back, her smirk stretching wider. “As long as I’m getting paid, I don’t see why not,” she added nonchalantly. “We can go tagging or something.”

Just like that, his hopes soared higher than he was willing to let them. Her willingness to give him her time had him grinning like a fool nonetheless, despite a sinful warmth bleeding in his chest. “Child’s play,” he quipped. He was treading in dangerous water just looking up at her. “Sounds delightful.”

Drakken made a mental note he’d have to keep a cap on letting it show how pleased he was to have her beside him for the day. She was _paid_ company, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it. It was worth every penny having someone to conduct a little illicit business with.

The day couldn’t possibly get better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins a crazy Friday in which Dr. D gets more than he bargained for... >:3
> 
> Find full view at [Split-n-Splice](https://split-n-splice.tumblr.com/post/189765268260/) on Tumblr~


	15. The Nature Of – 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because _going on a lark_ sounds more evil than _going on a date._ ;B

During the noon exchange, Drakken’s partner in crime stood composed at his side as a particularly stern and ominous presence he might have found more unsettling if she hadn’t been grinning excitedly five minutes earlier. The woman’s uniform was rightfully aposematic, and the prudish client was rightfully wary of what purpose she served. Maybe the rising bigwig recognized her and knew of her talents, or maybe he decided it was safer not to test the suspicious bodyguard standing at attention. Drakken liked to think his own confidence, despite being outnumbered and outmuscled, was a contributing factor.

The escape route Shego had secured for them in case the deal went south wasn’t needed after all as the trade for the made-to-order torture chair went off without a hitch.

The unceremonious paper sack of cash Drakken walked away with was just barely worth the time and labor put into building the villainous contraption, but there’d been a generous tip for having it completed ahead of schedule, so he couldn’t complain. He wondered inwardly if he’d be walking away with the payment at all if he had any ordinary budget henchman for backup.

As they retreated to the van and the buyer and his thugs went on their way, Shego leaned over to Drakken and whispered her disappointment in not being double-crossed. Unlike _him,_ she’d been hoping for action. She whined about wanting a fight, even tugging his sleeve and asking if she could go mug one of the wannabe’s bouncers for the hell of it. It was then that Drakken saw it best to distract her. She might not have any qualms with it, but he really didn’t need to make enemies with powerful people so early in the game. Not if he could help it, anyway.

Hitting up the first Smarty Mart they crossed earned a displeased raspberry from Shego, but he promised it would be worth it and pulled her inside. She saw where he was leading her soon enough, and she grinned and shook her head and shoved him when he gestured with a flourish to the aisle of canisters.

He should have expected her to go straight for the green. He also should have expected her to give the first can she grabbed a good shake and to pop the lid to aim it at him. Barely dodging the aerosol, he leapt back and threw a nervous glance about for witnesses before stalking up to her, popping the lid back on the can, and dropping it in the basket.

She swore not to do it again, but something about the way she rolled her eyes and the shift of her stance urged Drakken to sidestep around her, catching her crossing her fingers behind her back. She dropped two more cans of green in his hand basket before he could make a remark. He added his own shades of blue before declaring that five cans of paint was more than enough.

A quiet alleyway was the next stop.

Graffiti in broad daylight from the roof of the van was efficient in giving the thrill-seeker her kicks, for a little while anyway. The sleeve of her sweater served as an improvised mask against the fumes, hiding her smirk as she worked. Drakken could only shake his head at the thick overlapping letters larger than her forming _SG_.

He returned to the van to wait for her to finish up, claiming his spot behind the wheel in case they needed to leave in a hurry.

After a while, he noticed a lengthy pause, followed soon by the footsteps as she strode across the roof and the thump when she dropped down to hang her head over the edge to peer in at him upside-down through the driver’s side window. Her raven hair hung like a curtain outside, and he had to ball his fists in his lap not to reach out and touch it.

“Grab the blue and get up here,” she said.

“Thank you, no,” answered Drakken, his stomach twisting at the very idea of climbing onto the roof of the rust bucket. Joining her up top would delay escape if they had to make one. He did hand her the extra cans, but she glared at him as she set them aside.

“Oh, grow a pair, would you?” she retorted, reaching down to stretch her fingers for the handle, only to curse that her arm wasn’t long enough. “I need your help up here.” Since she couldn’t reach the handle, she reached in through the window instead to filch the glasses right off his face to serve as a bargaining chip.

He barked her name indignantly as he all but climbed out his window after her, grappling at the roof for purchase. He glared up at the figure in the green sweater above him. “Give them back!” he ordered, but it came out more like a whine. His face heated.

“Come and get ‘em,” she suggested, kneeling just out of reach. She extended a hand, but it wasn’t to return his eyeglasses.

Grunting, he batted away her assistance. Against his better judgment screaming at him to get back in his seat, he carefully climbed the rest of the way out of the window, hefting himself up and getting his feet beneath him on the ledge. Blind as bat, he managed to wriggle his way up and rolled onto a roof he feared would collapse under his weight if he dared to stand.

“See? Was that so bad?” jeered Shego as she returned the glasses to his face before he could risk sitting up.

_“Yes,”_ he grumbled, propping up on his elbows to peer over the edge. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but he certainly had a disagreement with the unreliable sense of bowing of the roof beneath him. It didn’t help when she shifted to kneel even closer, making the roof buckle with a _plunk_ he felt reverberate through his spine. He sat up a little too fast, feeling another pop of metal under his tailbone, and immediately looked over the edge again to wonder silently how he’d get down without falling and looking like an even bigger fool.

Shego’s hands pulled him to his feet, and for some reason he allowed it. Her luring smile was effective in chasing away the voice of reason screaming at him to stay down for safety’s sake, but as long as she didn’t let go of his arm, it might be alright. She gestured proudly to her insignia.

“Lovely,” he sighed, squeezing her shoulder just a little too tightly for support. “I could have seen this from the ground, you know.”

“Not so fast,” she snipped, grabbing at him when he made a move to step away. She tugged him back toward the wall, just about shoving him against it like an officer about to frisk him. “Stand here. Feet apart, yeah. And, uh, put your hands here,” she instructed with nudges and prods, and before Drakken could twist around to object to the manual manipulation, she was pressing down on his shoulders.

“What are you—?”

“Just hold still,” Shego ordered, her patience almost as thin as the paint. “Ready?”

“For what?”

The metal underfoot buckled again and his knees almost did as well as he felt her push down against his shoulders with twice the force as a moment ago. He almost jerked away, but he was effectively pinned against the wall, and instinct had him frozen in place. He grit his teeth as her full weight came down on him, and stared wide-eyed at the knees now on either side of his face. A trivial fear of losing his footing wasn’t the sole cause for the thrum of his heartbeat anymore.

Standing on the roof was bad enough. Standing on the roof with another person on his shoulders bearing down on him was enough to make him sweat and pray the metal would hold up. Nevermind that he had to forcibly banish the entire thought of his head presently between a pair of thighs. He stood rigid, hands splayed firm against the brick wall ahead of him and tried not to think of her as anything other than a very inconvenient and heavy backpack.

He didn’t want to open his eyes to acknowledge her when she rapped her knuckles on the top of his head, but Drakken reluctantly cracked them open and grunted in answer.

“DL or DD?” asked Shego.

“For what?” he all but spat, fixing his glare dead ahead at the mortar.

“Your initials, genius,” Shego sighed in exasperation, and tousled his hair. The movement, however slight, struck fear into his heart and he braced for the roof or his knees to give way.

He had zero control of his mouth. “No – I’m not – I don’t think—”

Shego flicked the top of his head. “You’re part of this.”

_“DD!”_ he blurted as if crying uncle. He swallowed as he looked up to watch her set to work, but he quickly looked back down upon the inadvertent discovery she wore nothing beneath her sweater. His face heated and he ignored the strain on his back and the burn in his limbs. _“Please_ make this quick,” he whined out under his breath.

She took her time anyway, and the fumes falling on him made the lightheadedness that much worse. Before he could collapse, she slid back down his back, and he breathed easier, but still found himself frozen to the spot.

Shego took a couple ambling steps away, spinning around and grinning up at her work while Drakken slowly relaxed and took a look for himself. Sure enough, _D.D_ was scrawled above in the same sharp crystalline fashion as her _SG_. The roof popping under his feet had nothing to do with the lurch in his gut as he gawped up at their combined initials.

Rendered mute, he took a deep breath to clear his lungs of the fumes messing with his head. The fumes were absolutely to blame for the trifling idea of their names being known in conjunction across the globe one day. It would be a big step up from a mere pair of ambiguous initials graffitied out of sight in some dark lonely alley. The thought was dizzying.

Or maybe he was just dizzy. He could blame the fumes for that too.

Arms caught him as he stumbled backwards, the laughter behind him doing nothing to help him get his head back on right. “What do you think?” she wondered as she pushed him upright and held him steady with a hand squeezing his arm.

“Uhm,” was all he could make out as he glanced between her inquiring raised brow and the drying mural. He was cottonmouthed, but managed to swallow and make an attempt. “It’s. Lovely.” They weren’t exactly the right words, but they’d have to suffice.

“Aw, shucks, pardner,” said Shego with a sarcastic southern drawl, and let go to elbow him and hook her thumbs in her belt loops. She laughed feebly, her smile barely meeting her eyes, and he tore his stare away as she licked her lips and brushed hair behind her ear to look up at the initials again. She cleared her throat and added in a more serious manner, “Let it be known, if you amount to anything, chief, give credit where credit is due. Got it?”

Joint initials were a testimony of partnership, but the nature of which, Drakken couldn’t pin down. He wasn’t sure he wanted to anyway, and he didn’t quite have the nerve to question it. He settled for smiling to his accomplice and giving an agreeable nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

Shego tugged his sleeve then. “Come on. We should book it before we’re busted.”

He had to admit, blemishing some unsuspecting business with a few more poorly-conceived and crude murals elsewhere until the paint ran out was enjoyable. Although becoming the canvas with the last bit of green paint was less so. Drakken discarded his ruined jacket in the back of the van along with the empty spray cans he’d confiscated from a chortling sidekick. She apologized, but it wasn’t very heartfelt. He had half a mind to turn a spent can on her, but remembered she wore only one layer just as he uncapped to return the favor. He grudgingly put the can away.

Little more than two hours had been spent on the endeavor, most of the time spent driving around scoping out locations. But the evening was still young – sunset wasn’t until six – and if his company wasn’t ready to retire, then neither was Drakken.

She had a suggestion a little more challenging than vandalism in dark alleyways.

Against his warning, she was insistent on getting her way. And against his better judgment, he let her have it.

Hitting up a casino was a risk, but she assured him that if she’d pulled it off once, she could do it again. He sighed and gave in to her demands, splitting up to let her to find her own way around the security checkpoint. He waited in anticipation inside the colorful noisy joint, keeping a sharp eye out for her, and all the while he tried not to dwell on the fact that if she weren’t underage, she wouldn’t have to be sneaking around at all. Luckily she blended in well with the younger patrons, and he spotted her skirting around some chatty college-age jock on her way through the crowd.

When she reached him, she took his arm and towed him off for roulette. As adamant as she’d been to visit the casino, she opted not to partake in any of the games this time. When he questioned it, she laughed that she’d rather watch him blow his dough than waste her own. He grunted indignantly in reply, but it was hard to argue with her lingering so close, frequently with a hand on his shoulder, or leaned against him, offering words of encouragement to egg him on and make his bets.

She was a bad influence and he had cash burning a hole in his pocket. It was a wonder she didn’t sucker him into losing anything substantial.

It was an hour or two later that her light touches to remind him she was close at hand turned into squeezes and tugs at his shoulders, but he ignored her pressure even when she pinched him. He was ready for another game of poker when she draped her arms over his shoulders suddenly to slump forward, and he got a strong whiff of her odd cucumber shampoo as she leaned terrifyingly close to his ear to hiss a warning through her teeth that they were being watched by the client’s thugs from earlier.

Heeding Shego’s warning at last, Drakken agreed to leave while he was ahead. It was hard not to cast a glance round to check for himself, but he took her word for it as they casually made their way through the casino, Shego splitting off towards the restrooms.

He couldn’t be happier that he’d turned a small profit from the torture-chair tip, and passed Shego her fair share of the winnings when she met him around back. She didn’t seem particularly happy about having to leave so soon, the cash she stuffed in her pocket doing little to take the grimace off her face.

With evening, the crowd of foot-traffic had swelled. It was perhaps the reason she stayed exceptionally close as she walked beside him down the sidewalk to find the parked getaway van. It made it that much harder not to glance over to her somber face as she followed. Her jaded eyes glanced up at him, and he darted his attention up and away.

Looking elsewhere, he spotted a familiar landmark in the form of an unassuming palm tree by an equally unassuming bench on the corner across the street. He glanced back to his companion trudging along next to him then.

“Are you hungry?”

**++X++**

Shego shrugged meekly before giving a nod in reply. The sun was setting, the dusky sky indicating it was nearing dinnertime. It had been several hours since the muffin she’d had for breakfast, and she could go for a bite to eat about now anyway. It might help stave off the dull headache dragging her down.

Drakken grabbed her by the arm then, pulling her off course and assuring her that _he knew a guy._ She quirked her brow, but humored him.

Apparently _the guy_ was a former henchman of Dr. Drakken’s. Shego didn’t recognize the brutish bouncer in black, but that was probably for the best. He seemed to be on good terms with Drakken. Good enough anyway to give her a once-over after Drakken offered a cash bribe and asked him to look the other way. The thug took the money and made a _sly dog_ comment, pushing open the door to allow them to descend into the underground establishment without a fuss and without checking ID.

_The Hellhole_ was a seedy little pub and poorly lit inside. A weathered animatronic of a small red devil hung by a noose in the entryway, welcoming sinners with its worn-out voice box and a jerky wave of a pitchfork that struck Shego’s escort on the back of the head as they passed.

Drakken kept a hand on her elbow to keep her close, whispering a brief explanation, “This is a popular chain among ne’er-do-well villains, so try not to start any fights or look at anyone the wrong way.”

Villain culture was certainly turning out to have a bigger underworld than she expected. If she was a double agent, the knowledge of hidden locations such as this would be valuable. She had to wonder what kind of rabbit hole she was following this man down, but a fascination kept her on his heels.

_“Ne’er-do-well villains,_ huh, Doc?” Shego scoffed. “What’s that say about you?”

Even in the dim red glow of the entryway, she saw his face flush. “I – it – I’ve had to come here from time to time for information, I’ll have you know,” he sputtered. “The food here isn’t half-bad either.”

She couldn’t help smirking and shaking her head as he lead her onto the floor, weaving between tables as he made a beeline for a booth in the back. He threw a few glances over his shoulder at her, as if worried he’d lose her despite the fact he was still holding her by the arm.

Despite his warning, she _was_ looking at patrons the wrong way. It was a little hard not to. Not unlike a villain convention she’d busted two years ago, the Hellhole was a freakshow. Her blue escort was just an average Joe suddenly. The multicolor lighting made it hard to tell who was of an unnatural hue, but several guests certainly had peculiar skin texture, and they came in all shapes and sizes. She had a feeling the folks here _weren’t_ dressed up for early Halloween festivities. She was pretty sure there was a reptilian hybrid monstrosity dining with a misplaced dapper fellow with a capuchin monkey on his shoulder. At the bar sat a gnarly woman with a parasitic twin on her side, which was decorated in beads and sipping a Bloody Mary with its single spindly malformed arm. Another fellow in a skirt stroked his beard as he eyed Shego’s backside in passing, muttered something in an indiscernible Scottish accent, though she was certain she caught _arse._

If Drakken wasn’t dragging her down into a booth, she might have gone back to make the Scotsman repeat himself to her fist.

Her companion threw himself down comfortably across from her on the cushy bench and sighed contentedly. “Nice turnout tonight,” he quipped as Shego tore her eyes away from the bizarre array of patrons, though he himself continued to stare almost dolefully across the pub. She tried following his line of sight, and just as she spotted a platform across the room, he heaved a sigh and slumped forward over the table. “I used to come here for the karaoke,” he admitted, shamefaced. “Well, technically I still do. Sort of. I’ve been here probably five times.” He laughed uneasily under her stare, and swallowed, and sat back.

“So, if you try to pressure me on stage again, no one here will bat an eye if I plasma-blast you, right?” she asked dryly.

He seemed to shrink under her questioning glare. “We’re just here for the food,” he mumbled.

Shego quickly came to doubt that when he knocked back a shot while waiting on two orders of chicken strips. She was really beginning to question what they were here for when he pushed the second shot across the table toward her. She hadn’t forgotten about the unsavory beer she’d sipped back on karaoke night in Go City, a little too distrusting now to take his offering so readily. She politely declined, but bit her lip as he gave her time to reconsider.

“You wanted to go on a lark, didn’t you?” he goaded, nudging the glass back her way. “Now’s your chance.” He had a very good point there.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, but for the sake of solidarity, she willingly accepted. A lark. That had a certain appeal.

Drakken chuckled impishly as she gulped it down, and she soon found herself sipping on a strawberry cocktail he swore she’d like or she could hit him. Shego kicked him under the table anyway, stubbornly denying a bloom of warmth as she ate her chicken strips and fries while he lost his reservations and forgot whose turn it was to drive. Although she was just as much to blame for not reminding him.

The grub was good, as promised, but eventually she saw it fit to urge Drakken to his feet before he could drink himself completely silly, though he was certainly on his way to tipsy town. She wanted to believe she wasn’t, that it was just his weight against her making her sway as terrible standup comedy drove them out of the aptly-named Hellhole.

Neither could recall precisely where they’d left the van, but it was found eventually. Within an hour or so of nightfall anyway, and not before Drakken disappeared for a good ten minutes and left Shego confused and alone on a bench until he reappeared, proudly brandishing a bottle of liquor swaddled in a paper sack. She confiscated the bottle first for safe keeping before giving him an unappreciative shove.

Once he was back on his feet, she passed it back, and he wasted no time in cracking it open to take a pull. He ambled along beside her until she was pushing him into the passenger seat of the van. If his indulgences at the pub hadn’t gotten him drunk, then nursing a bottle of rum was sure to do the trick.

She wanted to be annoyed with her intoxicated passenger, but instead she leaned through the door and over his lap to reach for the bottle he held away from her, until he yielded and let her take a curious sip. She stayed there leaned over his lap and contemplating taking another for a minute too long, because he cleared his throat and pushed her back by the shoulder, reminding her they ought to be going.

Shego climbed over him and into the driver’s seat and patted her cheeks as if it would clear her head of any wooziness, exhaustion- or alcohol-induced.

As she wearily took it upon herself to carefully navigate them out of the grand city of Las Vegas, she contemplated how difficult it would be to book a lavish hotel room – make that _two_ – on such short notice. Catching a magic show would have been nice, but there was always next time. The temptation of shopping crossed her mind as well as she stared longingly out at illuminated storefronts, but she sighed heavily, a little louder than necessary, and decided to save tonight’s earnings for a later date when she needed a pick-me-up or bail money.

She realized Drakken was talking, and almost ran a stoplight when she glanced over at him. No, he wasn’t talking – he was _singing._ To himself no less, to some tune in his head.

Shego waited until they’d left the congested traffic and night-life behind and were on the highway home – or so she hoped – before even considering turning on the radio. The plum-faced man sipping booze next to her killed time by howling to the tunes on the radio and strumming an air guitar, or otherwise beating the dash in an ill-timed drum solo.

It took a few songs, and a tiny sip or two as she warmed up to the liquor, before Shego was coaxed into joining in. His grin stretched from ear to ear when she finally quit merely bobbing her head to the beat and raised her voice in duet, swerving carelessly as she playfully grooved along with him to Michael Jackson’s _Bad._ Her clumsy and slurred rendition would score her no record deals, but it earned a round of applause from Drakken anyway.

One nice part of having the good Dr. Drakken drunk in the passenger seat was that in the midst of singing his depressed little heart out to the top 40, she got to floor it down the vacant highway. With his attention on her and the music, he didn’t even notice she was pushing the poor van to its limits.

Eventually her blue songbird tired of singing, but his voice wasn’t so tired that he couldn’t dissolve into conversation. It was mostly one-sided as he divulged details of shady deals of late that all-too-frequently involved him being swindled, usually because his clients had bigger and badder henchmen than his own. “I haven’t had it go that smoothly in a while,” he noted contently. “You’re something different. Unexpected. Those buffoons didn’t know what to make of you.” After a moment, he added in a mumble, “Like a poison dart frog.”

Shego snorted and shook off the frog bit. She wasn’t altogether sure if he was paying her a compliment, but she decided to count it as an attempt made. “You know, Dr. D, I could back you up full-time if you didn’t have me doing some stupid goodie-two-shoes act for my brothers,” she hinted.

“I _do_ enjoy having someone around the lair,” Drakken muttered thoughtfully, but shook his head before she could get her hopes up. He sniffed and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “No, it’s better this way. For now.”

“You just don’t wanna pay me for full time,” she scoffed, mostly lightheartedly. The pay had been generous so far. Especially tonight.

“Hey, now, I gave you three grand _in cash_ earlier for this,” Drakken defended, wagging a finger at her. “Three thousand six hundred and twenty._ Twenty Five._ I know – I counted. The henchmen work for pennies.”

“That wasn’t even a ten-percent cut.”

“Much more than that, and you’d be cutting into my profit margin, so zip it. I have bills to pay.”

That, she could accept. Not so much the _zip it_ comment – she still reached over and shoved his stupid head for that – but she didn’t complain anymore.

Soon enough, her companion shifted the subject, launching back into the saga of his history with inept henchmen over the past year and a half or so since leaving Gemini’s research team as a lowly lab hand to strike out on his own. Eventually his complaints about his troubles with them died down to grumbles and finally dwindled into silence.

Shego was just starting to feel the effects of fatigue catching up to her when suddenly Drakken piped up again.

“I have to take a leak. Pull over.”

Biting her tongue on a retort to _use a bottle,_ as she’d advise her brothers, Shego rolled her eyes and complied. The desert highway was, well, deserted, and she didn’t have to pull off the road. Coasting to the shoulder and down a slight embankment was just an accident. Dust and debris drifted in the headlights as she ran over a couple of bushes until finally sliding to a stop.

Drakken forgot to unbuckle himself when he tried to climb out. She didn’t mean anything by it when she reached over to press the release, but she laughed hysterically when he fell out with a yelp. He shouted something indignant about almost pissing himself as he stood back up, and then disappeared around the side of the van, grumbling and kicking pebbles.

She tried to keep her eyes off that side to spare some privacy, but left alone with the idling engine and a foot tapping to the beat thrumming from the crackling radio, a mean impulse played through her head, and she acted on it before she could think twice.

It was a dirty prank.

The tires spun out in the sand and she heard him yelling behind her as she floored it. She didn’t have it in her to leave him stranded in the desert though, and she didn’t want to either, but she did make him run a good ways down the road and tapped on the gas pedal each time he neared the passenger door.

She cackled when she finally let him dive in after his fifth attempt to board. In the overhead light, she saw his face flushed purple, and it wasn’t so much the alcohol doing it this time.

_“Shego!_ That wasn’t funny,” he complained, slamming the door a little too roughly.

“XYZ,” she replied.

“What?”

_“Examine your zipper,”_ she reiterated. Honestly, if he didn’t have a belt on, he would have lost his pants. Drakken grunted and she only glanced back at him again after she heard him zip up. She reached over to shove the pouting man’s shoulder. “Alright, I’m sorry,” she said, not especially genuine, but it was the thought that counted, right?

_“Neh,”_ he grunted, crossing his arms, only to uncross them and yank the bottle from the consol. She snatched it from him before he could raise it to his lips, and downed a swig for herself. “You’re _driving,”_ he complained, reaching out for the bottle.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna be pulled over out here,” she scoffed, gesturing with the rum to the vacant road disappearing into the dark ahead. Getting back on the straight highway suddenly wasn’t so appealing with a vast expanse of desert on either side of it. She hummed as she looked out into the darkness off-road, just beyond the glow of the headlights.

Drakken uttered something in confused questioning as she steered the van away from the pavement.

“I know what’ll cheer you up, grumpy pants,” she said as the van picked up speed and gained traction on the grit. “You like donuts?”

“Eugh – _yes?_ But – Shego – Shego, this is bumpy.”

“Yeah, I know,” she answered. She flicked a grin towards him but didn’t take her eyes off swerving between bushels of parched desert flora in the headlights.

“Shego!” he all but screamed as she cut the wheel.

A stark contrast to Drakken, who let out a terrified scream, Shego shouted in exuberance as the van skid in a loop. She let it idle for a minute once she completed the circuit, letting the dust settle and watching him gripping the handle above his head in one hand and the bottle in the other. His chest heaved, and he stared bug-eyed at the cloud of debris for a long moment.

And then he was hastily rolling up his window before yet more dust could waft in. Shego took the cue to roll up her own. His rising chuckle made the mischief worth it. He burst out in laughter a moment later and chortled, _“Again!”_ like a kid begging for another go on a roller coaster.

“You’re the boss,” she laughed amicably.

It was too dark to see, but she wanted to believe he was looking a little less blue beside her, even if she was sure his condition didn’t work that way. It would seem that the prankster offense from minutes ago had been forgiven anyway, because he was smiling and laughing now, goading her on to go faster.

She obliged to his demands, finding she had no objections.

At least until a combination of factors sabotaged their fun. A sudden change in the turf gave her better traction, she cut the wheel too hard, maybe it was a rut – but whatever happened, she felt her stomach drop as two wheels lifted off the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This night goes on for a while... ;3


	16. The Nature Of – 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which Drakken takes back his role as getaway driver and Shego indulges in more random chaos. uwu
> 
> (Why yes, I DID forget to update. I am tired. Take chapter art I drew a week ago as apology)  


Gravity shifted suddenly. Shego didn’t have time to shout a four-letter word before the van groaned like a beast and came crashing onto its side. Her arms flew up to cover her face in reflex as glass and rock blew in from shattered windows, and after nearly rolling completely belly-up, the van lost momentum and came to a jarring halt in the sand.

Choking on dust and squinting against debris on her eyelashes, she reached for the wheel to find and yank the key from the ignition a moment before the damn useless airbags went off.

“Shego?” called Drakken from above her, barely audible over the ringing in her ears. “Are you dead?”

She popped the airbag with her alien fire and held out a hand to illuminate him hung up above her, still held in place by his seatbelt. He was reaching for the clasp. Her eyes widened and she barked, “Drakken – _don’t—!”_

But he did.

With a scream – what did he _expect?_ – the graceless idiot came collapsing down over her, crash-landing on his neck in the mess of glass and rock where her door ought to be. Instead of cursing and getting upset over the tumble, he chuckled and wriggled awkwardly around her and the wheel to get his feet under him on the door.

Shego propped herself up on an elbow, ignoring the bite of glass and rock under her arm as she did, and reached for the warm flow of _wet_ leaving chilly streaks down the left side of her face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, reigning in his giggle fit. His hands were on her, patting up her arm and shoulder to blindly check her over in the dark. “Nothing broken?”

_“No,”_ she curtly grumbled, dabbing her sleeve at the hot sticky blood weeping from her temple.

“S’that _no, nothing’s broken_ or _no,_ _you’re not alright?”_

Shego grunted up at his hovering shape. _“I’m fine,”_ she reiterated. Nothing she couldn’t walk off, anyway. His searching hands patting up her reached her head and he hummed thoughtfully when she winced and smacked his grubby paws away the second his fingers found the bloody cut on her scalp. “Fuck off, doc,” she spat.

“All good,” was his diagnosis as he took his hands back. “We should get out of here.”

“Ya think?”

He shifted his weight on the crunching glass to stand as Shego unbuckled herself to collapse fully on her side against the door and debris. Between the steering wheel and his leg, she pulled herself up, shrugging away his helping hand around her arm as she rose in the confined space. In the dark, she _felt_ more than _saw_ Drakken stumbling past her over the seat as he ducked into the back, his footsteps sounding unnatural on the back wall that was now the floor.

She was glad to be granted a bit of space, but just as she raised a foot to finish kicking out the shattered windshield, Drakken called for a favor.

“Um. Shego? A little light?”

She groaned and lent him a hand. He grabbed her go-bag from the back, and stuffed spilled wads of cash back in the paper sack to add to her backpack for safekeeping. He also found the stray bottle of liquor and proudly announced the rum had survived before taking a hearty gulp of it.

Shego wasn’t particularly enthused by the news or his continued indulgence, and redirected her glow to blast out the windshield instead rather than kick it out. She didn’t need any more cuts, come to think of it.

Donuts in the desert had been a hoot while it lasted, but right now it was decidedly the stupidest idea she’d had in a long time. She couldn’t even begin to think of anything to top it. She groaned and pressed her sleeve to her temple again. She hadn’t sustained a concussion, she was pretty sure of that. Nonetheless, the cut would be a lasting reminder not to drink and drive.

Turning to survey the wreck in her glow, she counted herself lucky she’d only tipped the van. She could have collided with a sturdy cactus, or an outcrop of rock, or another vehicle. It could have been worse.

She stood by the smashed windshield, holding in her plasma to spare Drakken some light as he ducked back into the front to pop open the glovebox, papers and junk spilling out. He swore as something heavy struck his foot, and snatched it from the ground as he came tripping out.

“Found the flashlight,” he declared, giving it a couple smacks on his palm and clicking the button, only to sigh and toss it. “But it’s dead.”

“Forget about it,” she dismissed. She had her glow anyway. “You got a cell phone?”

“I do not,” he chirped remorselessly. “Which reminds me. I never replaced yours, did I?”

“Nope,” she popped.

Drakken shouldered her backpack and eyeballed the green flame in her palm. “How long will that last?”

“It’s not a tiki torch,” she retorted, and yanked her go-bag from him to slip it on herself, extinguishing her glow for a moment to do so.

“I was only asking—”

_“A while,”_ she answered vaguely, casting a glare back at the van. “Let’s just get moving.” They had a long walk ahead of them if they intended to get anywhere by morning. Attempting to flip the van right-side up would be a lost cause with just the two of them. She’d already established her companion didn’t have her brother’s superstrength. Even with her own slightly-above-average strength, she doubted he’d be any help when he was simply average. Average and drunk.

Drakken grunted, but whether in indignation or agreement was debatable. He extended something toward her then, stared at her outstretched glowing hand, and shoved the offering toward the hand that _wouldn’t_ immediately incinerate what he was trying to give her. “Tissue?” he said, polite enough he almost sounded sober.

She took it grudgingly to pat away the blood on her cheek and hold to the oozing wound on her temple, hissing as she did.

Beside her, Drakken raised the bottle to his lips and – _despite everything_ – took yet another glug as if aiming to finish off the bottle. He was a madman, after all. She was sure most of it had spilled back in the van, but it didn’t lessen her incredulous glare.

Forgetting about the tissue held to her head, she yanked the bottle from him, griping, “Give me that!” and chucked it into the dark. Like a dog playing fetch, the drunken man went bumbling after it with a shout of annoyance.

Shego still had to stifle laughter as she trudged after him in search of the highway. It took a while to find, plus a few green fireballs pitched across the expanse of sand like flares, but they eventually reached the road. While Drakken threw rocks to skitter down the pavement like skipping stones on a lake, Shego provided the invaluable service of lighting the way.

There wasn’t a car in sight, and while Drakken tugged her sleeve and swore they ought to be heading toward the glow on the horizon, Shego whapped him on the shoulder to remind him the hazy glow was _Vegas._ They’d just come from that direction. They were heading the _other_ direction.

He harrumphed at her, and turned on his heel to stalk off back towards Vegas anyway, despite the fact he had no source of light at his disposal and her assurance it was further than it looked. Shego rolled her eyes and continued down the lonely highway on her own, walking the faded fog line that was nonexistent in places, until she heard his yelp somewhere behind her.

“Dr. D?”

Nothing.

“Doc!” she barked out into the night, but the only answer was the nocturnal chorus of crickets.

A glare set on her face, she stalked back down the road to find the ornery drunkard. He wasn’t hard to find. Rather, he found her – sort of.

After a minute of squinting into the dark at the peripheral of her emerald light, something wrapped around her tender ankle, and she yelped and nearly released a ball of plasma at the man lying in the brush at the roadside. Lucky for him, the glow was recalled on instinct when she fell and threw out her hands to catch herself.

Shego collapsed in the sand and grit as Drakken guffawed. _“Jackass!”_ she snapped, squirming around onto her backside. She gave his shoulder a kick, but he was too caught up in choking on his laughter to pay her much mind.

He regained his composure slightly as he grinned over at her scowl, and then he collapsed back in the sand with a heavy sigh. “I’m tired,” he declared through a sedated grin.

“Well, too bad. We can’t rest here.”

“Five minutes.”

_“No.”_

Despite denying him such leisure, he didn’t move. He shut his eyes against her glow instead. After a minute, glaring at him was proving futile, so she heaved a sigh as well and fell back in the cold sand. She let her glow die to wrap her arms around herself, and Drakken let out a huff of air as she kicked her aching feet up on his stomach to elevate them.

“Start counting,” she advised. The waning moon and stars offered little light, but her eyes were already beginning to adjust to the blackness. She just barely saw him raise his arm to check his watch, heard him hum, and give a dismissive shrug. Of course he couldn’t read his watch in the dark.

Shego let herself slowly unwind to the therapeutic melody of crickets. She might have closed her eyes to the stars if she didn’t know better. After a while, she raised her arms up in the air on a whim.

Drakken hummed. “What are you doing?” he wondered innocently.

“Giving the heavens the middle finger.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“None of your business.”

“Because of the comet?”

She propped herself up on her elbows and pulled her heels off his belly. She glared at him in the dark, catching the faint glint of starlight reflecting on his glasses. He was looking at her. She wanted to snap at him, ask him what he knew, maybe beat it out of him if she could, but she relaxed instead, albeit slowly. “Yeah.”

She must have muttered something about the accursed thing, because Drakken spoke up again too soon. He sounded a little sad. “You wish it had never happened, huh?” he wondered, but she kept her lips zipped tight. He rolled onto his side to face her, and she set her glare straight up at the starlight. “Does that mean you wish you weren’t here?”

“Lying in the dirt, stranded in the desert? No, not particularly,” she answered dryly, and kicked her heels back up over his hip.

He hummed again, and she glanced down to see him fidgeting, drawing circles in the sand. His humming rose in volume, until she could decipher a tune, and then he was singing yet again. _“When you wish upon a star,” _he warbled.

“Makes no difference who you are,” she added airily, and his chuckle made it hard not to smile at the offending sky that had damned her. It almost made it worth the disaster that had wrecked her life four years ago and counting.

“Sing in tune or don’t sing at all, Shego,” Drakken criticized, just a touch testy.

Ignoring the sand she flicked his way, he started over with gusto. _“When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are,”_ he sang for the audience of crickets, and though Shego had resigned herself to keeping her lips zipped, he rolled his wrist to cue her to join in once more.

She rolled her eyes, but he mouthed it with her as she supplied, _“Anything your heart desires, will come to you.” _The words dropped with all the charm of rocks plunking into a pail. She wasn’t sure how the rest went, stubbornly deciding he’d have to settle for her off-key hums to follow his warbling.

After a moment of dead silence, Drakken hummed thoughtfully and stroked his chin. “It could use work,” he decided with a contented shrug. He cleared his throat then and fidgeted with his fingers. “Speaking of desires,” he added with a nod in her general direction.

She shot a perturbed glare at him, but he pointed toward the road. She sat up to squint down the highway, scarcely visible by moonlight. A faint noise came to her attention – a motor – and sure enough, headlights popped up over a distant rise.

Leaping up, Shego grabbed her drunken companion by the arm to drag him to his feet along with her. She hastily towed him back up onto the road, and to no one in particular, she threatened that the driver _had better stop or else._ She kept Drakken safely pushed behind her and the fog line as she raised an arm to hopefully flag down a ride.

Hitchhiking wasn’t her forte. It would never be her forte. But for once, the first car she saw tonight was also the first car to stop.

Their rescue came in the form of a weathered station wagon a decade or so old, with chipped paint and wood-panel sides, and a busted headlight to boot. Shego half-expected it to backfire and break down on the spot as it rattled to a pause on the other side of the road.

Drakken stepped up close to her, grabbing her by the shoulder. _“Ooh,”_ he cooed. “I always wanted one of those. Mother had one. My cousin scrapped it for parts.”

Shego crinkled her nose at the smell of alcohol on his breath, but didn’t shrug him off. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she decided in a mutter.

The driver’s window rolled down then and a scraggly middle-aged man leaned out. Something about the rotten-toothed smile of the tobacco-chewing driver put her ill at ease. “Need a ride?” drawled the hillbilly.

She clasped her hands behind her back in case her nerves betrayed her. Something about the guy made her itch to plasma-blast him in the face, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Uh, yeah,” she chimed before her companion could articulate anything coherent. She couldn’t force a _thank you_ out of her mouth, and Drakken didn’t seem to be any more inclined to give it either. She elbowed him to move, and pushed him into the back seat of the wagon ahead of her.

She found it hard to take her unblinking stare off the driver.

Of course she’d find out why the second she finally did.

No sooner had Shego ducked in and shut her door, did a familiar _click_ make her blood freeze over. It _wasn’t_ the sound of a seatbelt buckling. A hand instantly clasped down over hers on the seat, squeezing her fingers almost painfully tight. Drakken went stiff beside her, and for a split second, everything was still as her eyes darted up to see the silhouette of a gun aimed at her companion’s head.

If it weren’t for a peculiar fear flooding her now, she might have had a funny sense of déjà vu.

“You, out,” said the creepy driver, leisurely smacking on his tobacco. He nudged the gun slightly toward Shego and added, “You, stay.”

“We’re traveling together,” Drakken uttered, either too gutsy for his own good right now or completely oblivious to the driver’s intent.

“You got to the count of three, bud. One—”

_“Twothree,” _Shego blurted, and in a blink, she yanked her companion down by the neck and snapped out her other hand to shove the gunman’s wrist to the roof of the car. Hero training and superhuman powers had their perks sometimes, and one of them was lightning-fast reflexes instilled in her, because sometimes life-or-death decisions like now had to be made in a split second.

The gun went off, and the back window shattering was proof it wasn’t a bluff.

Drakken ripped the firearm from the driver as Shego kicked her door open, her grip on the creep’s wrist tight enough he screamed – or maybe that was because she twisted his arm into an unnatural position as she climbed out. She released him when she saw Drakken turning the driver’s own revolver on him, and then she was throwing open his door to eject the redneck from the car, grabbing fistfuls of his overalls to all but throw him into the road.

He tumbled across the pavement as Shego jumped in behind the wheel, and between her glow and the gun aimed at him through the driver-side window, he must have thought twice about storming back to his car.

_“Back up!_ Further!” she barked out the window at the pathetic excuse of a man holding his hands up as he sneered back at them in the dark. “Little more. Yeah, get outta my sight.”

“Do as she says,” warned Drakken, having rolled down a rear window to better brandish the crude weapon.

Shego swore under her breath as she illuminated the cab and took in the unfamiliar layout. Drakken uttered something in questioning, and she threw a look back at him, but not before shooting a glare out the window at the hick yelling obscenities at them, telling her to be reasonable while calling her every foul name in the book.

“Chief, do you know how to drive a stick?”

“Tell me you’re joking,” sputtered Drakken, leaning over the front seats to take a gander for himself. “You can drive a jet, but not—?”

“Can you or not?” she bit back at him.

“Scooch over,” he grunted.

If she’d expected him to get out and come around like any civilized human being, she was sorely mistaken. This wasn’t a particularly civilized situation, though. So she repeated to herself, “Beggars can’t be choosers,” as she helped drag his sorry butt over the seat to deposit him behind the wheel. The offender outside tried to move in while his guard was down, but Drakken was aiming the gun back out the window soon enough, firing a shot into the dark.

“I meant to do that,” he muttered, and stifled a giggle as he grappled blindly for the stick without taking his eyes off the belligerent hillbilly.

The tires were spinning out and they were burning rubber a second later as the chugging car lurched forward and shot down the highway, leaving the assailant-turned-victim stranded on the roadside. Drunk as he was, Drakken almost instantly veered off the road, but he swore, and did his best to keep them between the lines from that point on.

For good measure, Shego reached over to pull his seatbelt across him before buckling herself in. Drakken was guffawing a moment later, swerving as he did, and she had to snap her hand out again to hold the wheel steady, too sober and nervous to leave him completely unassisted.

“Some night,” he chortled. He took his eyes off the road – which might have been fine if she wasn’t having trouble not looking back at him in turn – and he beamed straight at her. “Been a while since I’ve gone carjacking. Your first time?”

“I stole your car last month,” she reminded.

“Oh, right, right,” he uttered with a nod, and looked back to the road.

Drakken adjusted his grip on the wheel, and though he still drifted slightly into the other lane and had indulged in a questionable amount of rum on top of his cocktail and shots at the Hellhole, Shego gave him enough slack to back off and let him drive. Her wary stare wandered from the road down to the fingers he eventually left drumming idly on the knob of the gear stick.

He opened his mouth again before long, his lips splitting into a grin. “Last time I stole a car was actually about, oh…geez. It was my buddy’s. We were friends. Not real good friends though,” he rambled on, his speech less than clear, but mostly comprehensible as he recounted a revenge he’d enacted against a classmate some years ago. Shego had to wonder if he was drunk then too, but he swore he’d been clean, cross his heart and stick a needle in his eye.

Less than ten minutes of speeding down the highway later, before he finished giving her _every_ detail of his elaborate scheme to sell his cousin the spiffy car for a quick buck, they reached a town centered around a junction. This time of night – midnight or so – all but one or two shops were still illuminated, one of them being a Mini Smarty Mart. The other was the gas station. There wasn’t a single lamppost in town to light the street.

“D’you know where we are?” wondered Drakken, lowering his voice as he crept down the road and eyed the gas station. There was no reason to whisper.

“I thought you’ve been around? You should know better than me,” Shego hissed back, dropping her tone as well in reflex. She cleared her throat and peeked at the gas gauge on the dark dash, lighting up a hand just to see it. “I think we need—”

“Nuh-uh,” he said quickly with a shake of his head, shrinking down in his seat like a little boy. “What if that guy was a local?”

Shego nodded understandingly, muttering, “Then they might know this car is stolen…” Everyone knows everyone in small towns, and all. Nonetheless, she strained to see into the tiny convenience store attached, curious if there was even an attendant on duty who might catch them. “Well we can’t just keep going like this. We’re running on fumes.”

“Alright! Alright,” grumbled Drakken testily, and he frowned as he gave in.

As luck would have it, the gas station attendant _was_ present. However, he was sound asleep, and the pumps were brand new and didn’t require assistance anyway to pay and fuel up, although Dr. Drakken did make the suggestion of just _stealing_ the fuel. While he was busy making a mess and whining about dribbling gasoline on his shoes, Shego gravitated toward the shop.

She paused halfway and doubled back for her go-bag, a brilliant idea bringing a wily smile to her face.

“What are you doing?” Drakken wondered.

“Shut up and have the car ready when I come out,” she advised.

He made a pathetic sort of whine, like a puppy being told to stay. And then he grunted, grumbling, “Yes, ma’am,” and returned to the task of filling the tank.

Shego tiptoed inside, opening the door slowly and catching the bell before it could even _tink_ to announce her entry. She knew there was bound to be a security camera somewhere, operational or otherwise. Search and destroy sounded appealing, but that method would only leave her mark as a dead giveaway to her identity.

So, like any sane shoplifter, she strode confidently through the aisles, taking what she pleased and knowing full well she was likely on camera, wherever it may be. She didn’t hazard looking up to find it. Still, she may have been a bit too bold about her thievery, but that could be blamed on the rum still putting pep in her step.

Her bag half-full of snacks in addition to her uniform and Drakken’s cash, she turned to the counter, eyeing the overweight grimy man slumped over it and snoring in a puddle of his own drool.

She helped herself to the tobacco products lining the shelves behind the counter, deciding it would save her a buck and one raid like this might do her for a whole year. Bag about as full as it was going to get, she turned to scrutinize the cash register on the attendant’s other side for a long moment. Through the window, she saw the tail lights of the station wagon as Drakken repositioned the car, backing up toward the front of the shop for a quicker getaway, or maybe trying to signal her with the lights.

As tempting as the till was, she opted out of squeezing past the fat man to reach it. She was looting enough of his livelihood already.

It was the zip of her bag plopped on the counter that made the attendant’s chubby face twitch. He wriggled his nose as she froze, and he sniffed. Shego slung her backpack over her shoulder quickly and hopped across the counter just as the unsuspecting shopkeeper woke, and she heard a bleary bellow following her out the door as the big guy sprang into action.

Next thing she knew, the bang of a shotgun had her ears ringing, and she hoped it was only the gravel kicked up and not the spray of lead hitting her legs as she dove through the shattered rear window of the wagon in the same second tires squealed. She ducked for cover and was _positive_ some of the birdshot struck the bumper when they were fired at again. They were lucky it didn’t blow a tire.

“Why does everyone try to shoot me when I’m with you?” Shego snapped toward the front as she crawled out of the glass in the trunk and fell into the back seat.

“I don’t know! I think we’re tied tonight though,” Drakken shouted back. There was no reason to be shouting, except maybe his ears were ringing too from the earsplitting pops.

She checked her legs quickly – braced to find the worst – but was relieved to find she hadn’t been struck by pellets after all. For a moment, she lay on the cold leather seat to catch her breath and let herself come down from the adrenaline rush, but a sudden swerve cut her relaxation short. She clambered into the front to join her drunk driver on the bench.

“What was all that about anyway?” asked Drakken.

“Whadda ya think?” she shot back as she unzipped her bag. She realized, as she was rummaging in the go-bag between her knees, that the gear stick was also between her knees, which meant she was sitting a bit too close to her drifting getaway driver.

She shifted aside back to her proper spot in shotgun, and noticed him visibly relax.

“Any beef jerky?” he asked hopefully.

_“Of course,”_ she chimed lightly, as if it were obvious, and dug out a bag from beneath the packs of cigarettes.

She tore into it and handed over a hickory-smoked beef stick. While she ate her own, she tuned out Drakken humming and smacking next to her as he thoroughly and drunkenly enjoyed his. Focusing on the rearview mirror in hopes she’d see no flashing lights of the law had her preoccupied anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep breath* THE NIGHT'S NOT OVER YET. DON'T CARE, I HAD FUN.  
I need to remember to update in a day or two. :T


	17. The Nature Of – 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for delay. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I moved somewhat unexpectedly and it's been exhausting, now winter weather's probably gonna affect the next update.  
Anyway, just a liiittle more shenanigans, followed up by fluff.

Letting her heavy eyelids fall shut wasn’t a conscious decision. It just sort of happened. She didn’t know _when_ it happened. Maybe after a town or two, an hour tops, after she’d strained for too long to keep her eyes peeled for the telltale flashes of red and blue in pursuit. The barren wasteland stretched on forever and the ambience of the engine and wheels on pavement had a lulling effect, as did the monotonous desert highway in the headlights with no end in sight.

She was only vaguely aware of a hand on her shoulder, a light jostle she refused to wake up to. She unbuckled her seatbelt instead, patting around for a lever to drop the seat back before giving up and lying down across the bench. She tucked her knees up between her and the backrest, surrendering to fatigue as she curled up. It didn’t feel completely safe, but she was safe _enough_ and too tired to care. There were fingers in her hair that weren’t her own and then something pressing to the sore spot on her temple, where blood left her hair crusted and matted, but she didn’t argue with the feather-light touch.

It wasn’t totally pitch black outside anymore when her eyes cracked open again, but it was dark enough to know it was still the dead of the night. Faint light like passing traffic pulsed dimly through the car. She was reluctant to come around as she heard the crunch of gravel, and after a moment she deemed it couldn’t be Drakken drifting off the road, because everything was still. The engine wasn’t even idling. A draft blew in from the busted back window, and the seats were hard and cold, and Drakken _couldn’t_ have been driving because he was snoring somewhere nearby.

Shego was just warm enough as long as she didn’t move, but she couldn’t help shifting in a hopeless effort to get comfortable. The soft material under her cheek certainly wasn’t the leather upholstery, and for a moment she might have assumed the firm improvised pillow was just her backpack. But her backpack wasn’t remotely comfortable or smooth – it was full of junk food, blocky cigarette cartons, and her boots and wadded uniform.

She almost jumped when her eyes wandered up and fixed blearily on the man above her. Despite the leap of her heart, she didn’t jerk her aching head away from the lap she’d come to rest it on. She dropped her stare back down quickly to focus on his belt just inches from her nose.

Her head _really_ hurt. She bit her chapped lip and skewed her eyes shut as she reached up for the injury in reflex. A cloth was found stuck to the dried blood in her hair, and she recognized the soft fabric of the hankie Drakken used for his glasses.

She pried her eyes open again to look up at him. Slack-jawed and snoring, he wasn’t exactly her definition of _sleeping beauty,_ but he was a sight to behold nonetheless, slumped awkwardly against the car door with his white dress shirt filthy and necktie loosened, tangled ponytail flopped over one shoulder, and his glasses askew on his face. She supposed her state couldn’t have been much better, as she was just as dirty, if not more so, considering the dried blood that cracked on the side of her face as she yawned.

Dazed, she stared back up at the peculiar shifting of light flickering lazily through the cab above her.

Finally it registered.

Her heart dropped the instant before a light flooded in through Drakken’s window to blind her, followed by a knock on the glass. She squinted and blocked it out with a hand, muttering a curse as she recoiled.

A voice of warning in her head droned, _“No sudden movements.”_ Or maybe that was the officer outside. She really couldn’t be sure as she blinked away the disorienting fog of fatigue and slumber.

There was no need to guess who was behind the flashlight presently being shined mercilessly in her face. Not when the lights of a cruiser were flickering through the windows too. “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle,” came an almost-polite order from the voice beyond the light.

Drakken’s head lolled and he jolted awake a second later. “Huh – wha’? What time is it?” The hour wasn’t really crucial at the moment, but Shego wasn’t surprised it was the first thing out of his mouth.

“About a quarter till three AM, sir,” informed the policeman graciously, and stepped aside as he repeated the order for Drakken. “Please exit the vehicle. You’re under arrest.”

_“Busted,”_ Shego hissed quietly through her teeth as she slowly lifted herself upright. The word passing her lips sent a strange shiver down her spine she knew didn’t belong there, but to hell with it. She’d better get used to it. She might have even found the excitement _pleasing_ if her skin weren’t prickling in alarm now at the fact the flashlight jerked as the officer stepped back in response to her movement. She was positive another damn gun was pulled on her – or about to be – she just couldn’t see it because she was still being blinded by a flashlight.

_“Augh!_ Sheg—Shilo,” whined Drakken, flicking a bewildered look across to her. “What did you do?”

_“Me?”_ she blurted.

Yeah, okay. So maybe _probable cause_ was all on her. Unless the one who’d bought the alcohol and abetted in a little underage drinking was to blame for her poor choices tonight – in which case, that was on him.

Drakken looked between her and the officer and back to her. She nodded. He looked to the steering wheel next – she grimaced and shook her head. She saw his fingers flex, and knew what he was thinking, but she grabbed his hand to stop him from reaching for the key in the ignition to make a run for it. Doing so was bound to only lead to even worse charges if they were caught.

When neither made a move, the officer cleared his throat for their attention. “Are either of you aware this vehicle is stolen and was involved in a robbery earlier tonight?”

_“No,”_ gasped Shego. “Get out.”

“No Miranda?” wondered Drakken lightly. He rolled his head on his shoulders, feigning a carefree demeanor, but Shego could sense he was tense.

“Step out of the vehicle,” ordered the officer one last time, his voice rising. “Hands up!”

Drakken’s hands shot up, taking one of Shego’s with it. She raised her other almost as slowly as Drakken cautiously reached for the door to pop it open. He climbed out first, and the open door revealed for a fact that the officer was brandishing a firearm. The man holstered it however as he ordered Drakken to put his hands behind his back and turn around.

Shego was just crawling out herself when Drakken was shoved against the side of the station wagon. He twisted his head to shoot a displeased glare back at the officer, his lip raised and brow knitted tight. Glasses slipping, he cursed and tipped his head back to try shifting them back into position, but it didn’t help him much.

Her hands free and palms itching, Shego watched just shy of helpless as her getaway driver was handcuffed and frisked and read his rights in a tired drone. The officer lost his courteous tone as he yanked up Drakken’s shirt to check his waist, commenting snidely on what he presumed was body paint or a tattoo extending past his face and neck, to which Drakken grunted irritably.

When she took a step forward, the officer’s attention snapped up at her and she was ordered not to move. And then she was ordered to shut the door and put her hands on the roof. She complied, and flashed a smirk to her companion an arm’s length away. He wasn’t nearly so amused by it all. He glared at her, harrumphed, and scowled away to grit his teeth and bear it as he was given his pat-down.

Something about the policeman’s evident belief that Dr. Drakken was the more dangerous of the two was plucking hazardously at Shego’s nerves.

The officer made the mistake of crouching to check Drakken’s oxfords for concealed weapons or anything incriminating. Meanwhile Shego eyed the man’s gun, safely holstered. A glance up to his patrol car, lights still flickering, and she determined he was foolishly working alone tonight. During her hero career, seeing the police department so understaffed and thus shouldering the burden on her would have _really_ ticked her off.

Her hands _really_ itched.

They slid from the roof as she slowly leaned back, studying the careless man in uniform squatting. Completely vulnerable.

He was asking for it.

The fool was too focused on checking Drakken’s _socks_ to notice her measuring a charge of plasma in her grip. He didn’t know what hit him as she swept a hand over the top of his head to discharge the ball.

_“Ksssh,_ officer down,” she jeered, speaking into her fist to mimic a radio.

Bug-eyed and jaw unhinged, Drakken gawped from her beaming face to the policeman who’d just crumpled and fell in the sand around his feet. “Did you just kill that man?” he sputtered.

“Nah. But he’ll have a heck of a headache when he wakes up,” she said, though she couldn’t be sure she was telling the truth. The blow was nothing compared to the desperate blast she’d scrambled her brother’s brains with several weeks ago, but blunt force trauma was tricky to work with. There was no certainty how much was too much. How much was _fatal._ All that really mattered was the pop upside the head was effective in rendering the lawman incapacitated at the very least.

She could only cross her fingers and hope for the best as she worked quickly, stripping the officer of his gun for good measure and smashing his radio under her heel for the hell of it, telling herself it might buy them time so he couldn’t immediately call for backup if he came to in a minute.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Drakken uttered, craning his neck to look past her as she grabbed him by the chain links between his cuffs. Another quick charge of plasma concentrated to her fingers, hot and metal-warping, and she pinched the links apart, leaving him with two shiny bracelets but at least his wrists weren’t bound together anymore.

Shego rolled her eyes. “I swear, if you throw up—”

“No, no,” Drakken sputtered, waving to signal denial as she ducked back into the car through the driver’s side. She swore she heard him dry heave though as he rolled the body – be it a dead body or a sleeping one – safely aside with his foot so as to not run the officer over. A courteous thought, considering he was clearly still woozy as he stumbled into the door and nearly fell completely on his side when he dropped down onto the bench.

Shego shoved him upright – just about shoving him back out in the process – but he caught himself with the door and slammed it shut. He reached to fix his socks, but a swat on the shoulder reminded him of their number one priority. The engine revved then and they were back on the road, tires spinning in the grit. She was thankful they’d stopped for gas earlier after all, even if her stunt there might have been the reason they’d been found at all.

Drakken’s swerving had lessened considerably, but he drifted into the center of the highway anyway as he floored it. They were homebound. At least, Shego hoped they were. She hadn’t the slightest clue where they even were – other than still in the never-ending wasteland.

To make damn sure she stayed awake on what was hopefully the last stretch, Shego rubbed her eyes and pinched her thigh to keep her peepers peeled for any sign of officers patrolling the highway for a stolen rust bucket and two convenience store thieves. It sounded like a petty enough crime the local law enforcement might let it slide without making an effort, until Shego considered the charges for assaulting an officer and running from the law should they be identified and arrested later. _She_ might be able to slip under the radar effortlessly enough – but Drakken, the big blue sore thumb he was, might not be get away with it so easy.

“What?”

“What?” she echoed, blinking in a stupor.

“You’re staring,” grunted the driver as he slouched down in his seat to get comfortable. “It’s rude to stare.”

Face heating, she quickly tore her eyes away from him and set them back on the road. She sat on her hands in precaution, as it was just about the safest place for them right now to keep her sparkling glow from showing. She drew a deep meditative breath and focused on keeping the nervous tic under control.

After a minute, she flicked a glance over at the frowning alcoholic behind the wheel. A meek laugh escaped her as she tried to smile over at him. “That creep really put the _cop_ in coping a feel, huh?” she jibbed, and she was pretty sure she saw him shudder.

“I’d rather not to relive the experience,” he said wistfully, and reached for the radio to search for a station. “Not the first time. Won’t be the last.” A few back and forth twists of the dial and it was determined that nothing came in, so he grunted and snapped it off.

Shego chewed her nail for a minute. “Thought you haven’t been arrested before?”

“Did I say that?” Drakken uttered with dry wit, tapping his chin as if trying to recall. When it earned a small laugh out of her, the rogue doctor flashed a crooked grin at her. “You’re staring again.”

Big deal. “Hey, it’s _your_ job to watch the road. Not mine,” she dismissed as she turned away to dig into her go-bag packed with snacks and smokes. She hoped her cheeks weren’t glowing, because they sure felt like they were. She pulled out a bottle of cream soda, cracked it open to take the first sip, and held it out in offering for her tipsy driver.

Drakken took it, but he scrutinized the label with blatant distrust of the clear soft drink. She knew he’d tried one of her sparkling waters a while back, because she’d been missing one from the twelve-pack. He must have deemed the cream soda safe enough though, because he took a swig – only to pull a face and pass it back. “Too sweet,” he muttered.

_“You_ of all people,” Shego groaned with a roll of her eyes.

She slumped against the window, pulling her legs up onto the bench. She wanted to kick her sore ankle up into his lap, but thought better of it.

She soon noticed she was the one being watched, the fact made clear when Drakken drifted across the fog line and she shot a glower at him. She snapped her fingers. “Hey, hey, hey,” she called. “Eyes on the road, pal.”

He veered back into the lane, but she didn’t miss his stare drifting back to her anyway.

It was her turn to snip, _“What?”_

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, blinking rapidly and looking back at the road just as there was a bend to slow for. “Nothing, I just. You. You are one of a kind, you know, Shego?”

“Yes. Yes, I do know,” she acknowledged with a nod. It was a little hard to forget when she had to leave her bottle of pop between her knees to sit on her hands again, the damned glow making her life difficult as always. She relaxed back against the door anyway, deciding the curse was probably worth it.

Jiminy Cricket chirped in her head as she watched cloud cover slowly blot out the stars. She didn’t mean to start humming to the nostalgic melody again, because it set Drakken off. She sighed and put up with it, deciding his tired halfhearted singing at least kept her awake and filled the void left by an uncooperative radio.

The desert _seemed_ endless, but miraculously, they did eventually find its end. Sand and parched weeds gradually gave way to a wider range of flora and fuller bushes, and rocks jutting up in black silhouettes against the night sky smoothed out to lumpy mountains as they were funneled into a pass, the highway soon running parallel to the river Shego knew must be the one that ran through town. Sparse pines flanked the road soon enough.

She swore she felt a change in the air miles before they even reached the oasis settlement – it wasn’t so _dry,_ for one. It was a little colder too, however, and with wind blowing through the car, she had to wrap her arms tight around herself, shivering slightly against the chill.

It was a relieving sight to see the glitter as they came over a hill and dropped back down into the valley. _“Finally,”_ Drakken gasped, and Shego gave a sleepy hum in agreement.

A quick cut through town down Main Street, and they were skirting back around and back up another hill.

“I should really have this paved,” Drakken mumbled as they came up his gravel driveway. Shego was inclined to agree. It was too reminiscent of the sand and grit they’d spent far too much time on tonight, whether driving or walking.

Predictably, the gate was chained and locked, and no henchman was close at hand to see their need for assistance. Even if there was a grunt on duty, he wouldn’t have recognized the vehicle. So Shego took it upon herself to hop out, pulling Drakken’s set of keys from her pocket, as she’d never given them back after tipping the van.

She tried a couple in the lock, but between two dozen keys, decided it was quicker to stalk back to the tired driver leaned out his window with head in his hand. He found her the right key with his eyes half-closed and passed the jingling set back for her to do her job, even if his help had her feeling a little incompetent. She locked back up after him, and was glad he waited idling for her to climb back in, although she had to jump out again a moment later anyway to manually lift the garage door.

Maybe he _did_ need more henchmen, she mused to herself.

Back in the lair of the weary blue scientist, Shego shoved her companion off toward the door to his quarters before trudging across the lab for her own accommodations.

She hadn’t thought of sleepwear when Drakken told her to pack an overnight bag. She’d been too doubtful of whatever he had in mind. Honestly, she’d expected him to drag her back to his lair for some reason or other. She hadn’t foreseen spending the next twenty-four hours running all over Vegas and the Nevada desert.

Thankfully, her drawers still contained a few essentials, which she tried to keep handy just in case she needed them at a time like this. The foresight to leave behind a set of pajamas was a godsend, because there was no way she was hiking or driving all the way back to her cold apartment at this time of night when there was a hot shower calling her name _here._

She was relieved to strip out of the grime-encrusted civilian wear at long last, using her ruined green sweater still bedazzled with glass to sweep up some of the loose sharp tidbits that fell off her.

She wasn’t a particularly pretty sight at the moment. A checkup in the mirror revealed her shoulder was scratched and bruised from where she’d fell on it in the crash, and the cut on her temple right at her hairline had bled enough to just about paint half her face, though most of the smeared blood had turned black and brown with dirt by now. She took utmost care in washing around the cut, miserable to have it bleeding freely again and making a vain attempt to stop the flow with a pristine white cloth.

It took the shower running cold for Shego to realize she’d been falling asleep in the tub, the stream of water beating down on her back spraying over the edge and onto the floor, soaking her now-muddy outfit. She was beat.

Shego inadvertently startled the soggy robe-swaddled man in his own kitchen when she came strolling into the good Dr. Drakken’s quarters with a towel around her shoulders like a shawl. Under his wide-eyed stare, she patted the corner of the towel to her temple, trying not to care that she was staining it.

Pulling the towel tight around herself, Shego stood torn between the sofa and the fridge. Blocking the way to the fridge, Drakken was still staring at her. She glanced down, double-checking just to be absolutely sure she’d remembered to pull on her fleece pants to go with her matching tank top. Maybe it was the little green owls all over her legs that caught him off guard. It couldn’t be the fresh blood leaving an extra dark streak through her hair and staining the white towel pink.

_“What? _What is it?” she carped as Drakken gravitated toward her. She wasn’t so sure she was hungry for a midnight snack anymore.

It was definitely her blood that had caught his eye. “Mind if I…?”

_“Yes,”_ she snapped, sidestepping away from him and the curious hand reaching out toward her. “I do mind. It’s…it’s fine, Doc. I shouldn’t need stitches.”

He retracted his hand and blinked and tore his curious stare away. “If you say so,” he mumbled.

Shego stuck her tongue out at him, too tired to care that it was childish. “You just wanna give me some to match,” she growled. She turned for the couch. Fatigue was winning out. “I’m crashing here tonight. Got a problem with that?” It was warmer in his living room than her bedroom anyway. And the couch was softer.

Drakken shook his head, spooning yogurt into his mouth to keep it busy, as if avoiding answering her. He seemed to be avoiding looking her way at all, she noticed, as she fluffed the throw pillow. When he shuffled out to shut himself away in his bedroom for the remainder of the night, Shego sarcastically wished him a goodnight, but he was too stupid to utter more than a short, “Yep,” before disappearing.

She snorted incredulously as she flopped down. It must have gotten to him within moments, because she’d just shut her eyes when she heard his door creak open again and his hurried footsteps. Something soft landed on her.

_“Goodnight,”_ he grunted, voice strained as if it was exhausting just to correct himself and return the sentiment in the proper manner.

Crudeness aside, Shego smirked and shook out the puffy blue comforter he’d thrown at her. It smelled mostly like generic fabric softener, but also still too much like him. She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block out the thought. 


	18. The Nature Of – 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More self-indulgent fluff. :B  
My power is still out, but driveling on~

His bedroom wasn’t soundproof. If anything, he swore the cavern walls _amplified _every noise from adjacent rooms. So when Drakken heard the television flick on in the den, he could only groan to himself and muffle the sound with a pillow. He blamed the TV for keeping him up.

Although Shego still had her own room to retire to, it seemed she was as adamant as ever against using it, as he found her asleep on the couch the next morning. He vaguely recalled tossing her a blanket, so it wasn’t a complete surprise she was exactly where he’d left her. He wasn’t ready to complain just yet either, even though the television was still on.

His head still throbbed anyway, and self-medicating took precedence. Careful to keep the noise down for the sake of his headache and not waking his guest, the sobering doctor took care of the morning business of brewing a fresh pot of coffee before gravitating back to the living room with his mug.

Grabbing the remote from the armrest on the way to his chair, he flipped to the local news to wait for any indication that the mess they’d stirred last night had made headlines. He listened more than watched it though, his heavy-lidded gaze soon straying back toward the couch where his partner in crime was still sound asleep.

Finding comfort or any joy at all in finding her crashed in his living room was downright _backward _considering she’d moved out in the first place to keep him safely out of the equation in preparation of her inevitable discovery by her superhero family. He really had missed the regular sight of her lounging wherever she pleased though, be it his couch, computer chair, or even his desk. Uninvited or otherwise, her presence alleviated the weight of solitude, and now that he was getting used to it, he was becoming rather fond of it rather quickly.

Watching her now, he had the sense that maybe she wasn’t really as far out of reach as she’d come to seem as of late. It couldn’t have been as simple as asking for her company, but maybe it was. He knew his chaotic chosen company could detach his head from his shoulders if she so wished, but maybe the hazard was part of the appeal.

News reports eventually fell on deaf ears.

Dr. Drakken didn’t really mean to stare so long at the slow breathing of the slumbering superhuman curled up comfortably nearby, bundled in a blanket he’d spared last night in his haze.

He especially didn’t mean to relocate to the spine of the couch or reach down to part her hair to inspect the neat little slice across her temple. The cut had nothing on the gouge that had nearly taken out his eye just a few years ago. At least the bleeding had stopped and it had scabbed over. He couldn’t be sure if she’d ever mentioned a superhuman healing rate or if he’d just gathered that from observation, but the thought of being familiar enough already with her wounds to not be too worried about them was enough to worry him.

There was no telling when she would next spend the night, let alone in the open and vulnerable to prying eyes, but he still blamed last night’s poor choices for his staring.

He didn’t care to hear what she’d have to say about it if she caught him, so at the first sign of her stirring, he was out of there, hopping up so fast he nearly spilled his now-cold coffee on himself as he abruptly decided his time was better spent tinkering in the lab.

He was taking inventory of the crates of materials he had at his disposal when he heard the door to his quarters creak open, followed by a notable lack of pitter-patter of his guest’s feet absconding to her room. If only he’d turned to glance back, he might have seen her sneaking up on him like a blanket-swaddled ghost, and he might not have jumped when she cleared her throat just behind his back.

Drakken spun, and she leaned back from the inadvertent swing of a crowbar he’d been using to wrench open the crates. He threw the offending tool and winced as it struck the stone floor with an ear- and head-splitting clang that reverberated through the cavern.

“Hnnng! _What?” _he grunted, rubbing his brow and making a point to relax his jaw. Through squinted eyes and throbbing headache, he saw Shego clutching his blue blanket tighter around herself.

“Can I bum a sweater off you?” she all but croaked. Her cheeks tinged pink and she reached for her throat as she quietly cleared it to get the frog out. Drakken squinted incredulously at her, questioning silently, and she glanced off toward the hall leading to her quarters. “I don’t have much left here since you kicked me out, and I’m not wearing _this _in public,” she explained, parting the blanket to flash a glimpse of the googly-eyed sleepy-time owl graphic on the front of her tank top.

“Will I get it back?” asked Drakken warily, though he was already working up the nerve to take a step around her to fetch her something regardless.

“Maybe,” was her blunt and carefree answer.

He yielded despite the lack of assurance. He had enough sweaters lying about anyway, he could stand to lose one. Just to spite her, he had half a mind to select a gaudy cable-knit his mother had fashioned from lumpy yarn, but it had sentimental value even as ugly as it was, so he grabbed one of the cheap black pullovers from his closet to toss at the woman slumped sideways and already half-asleep again in his computer chair.

She unwrapped herself from the blanket, revealing she’d already dressed from the waist down into jeans and sneakers, and Drakken tried not to pause or stare as she added his sweater to her outfit. He was just being a good host, as his mother had brought him up to be. Nothing about the sight of his accomplice should have spurred a warm swell in his chest.

He could tell himself that all he wanted, but it didn’t make it go away.

After she’d taken a catnap in his computer chair behind him and sucked down a mug of coffee – since when did she keep her own mug in his cabinets anyway? – Shego swaggered up to him to hover over his shoulder for a moment.

He tried to ignore her as he crouched to set up a handy tripod kit to serve as the base stand for a new laser cannon he hoped to realize and auction off soon. He shut his eyes to visualize it and shut her out but didn’t get far in the wistful train of thought.

“I take it your hangover must not be too bad, huh, Doc?” Shego mused, her voice clearer now and closer to normal. He could feel her critical eyes on him and the skeletal folding legs of the tripod he was bolting together. At a flap of paper, he turned a sharp glare over his shoulder up at her to see Shego flipping through pages of schematics and blueprints. “Think you can take a break from this bizarro-techno cannon thing you’re articulating here or are you gonna assign me an escort? ‘Cause I’m not _walking _home.”

“Give those back,” Drakken grouched, rising from the floor. He reached for the papers, but she held them out of reach only to whap him on the head with them before returning the crucial plans. He grunted and stooped to grab his wrench from the floor. The motion made his head pound. He grimaced and rubbed his eyes, answering, “It’s the boys’ day off. Who knows where they’re scattered.”

“Well aren’t you lucky,” she said dryly, snatching the tool from him. He hoped she wouldn’t hit him over the head with it next. “Looks like _you’re _taking me home.”

Drakken barked a laugh. In her moment of surprise, he swiped the wrench back only to toss it down into the toolbox sitting in disarray at his feet. “How do you propose I do that?” he scoffed. “You drove my car into the ocean and then wrecked my van in a desert. I’m going to have to _replace _those—”

“Oh, you wished on a star for a station wagon, and you know it,” she mocked.

He blew a raspberry. “That run down piece of junk was not one of my wishes,” he said with a shake of his head that only fed the migraine.

Shego stood quietly as he skulked away to return the blueprints safely to the desk where they belonged. “What did you wish for, then?” she called after him.

He nearly tripped before he got there. A shrug and a scratch of his neck and a mumbled, “I haven’t the faintest,” was the safest possible answer. Because wishing she’d stick around long enough to see him make a name for himself and for hers to be broadcast on television beside his was just that: _wishful thinking. _Sooner or later, he’d be backstabbed or make a grievous mistake, and everyone he’d ever known drifted away eventually. It was best not to get too attached.

Although it was too late for that. He’d already made a grievous mistake. He’d left an opening and she’d wasted no time wheedling her way in past his walls and planting something in his chest, and the fact was indisputable when he couldn’t look at her in his sweater without feeling the invasive weed bloom.

He was doing favors. He was being nice. He was only playing his cards right so he could take advantage of her invaluable services, and nothing more. The idea that it might be manipulative twisted in his gut, but they had an understanding of what they wanted from each other from the get-go. Her company wasn’t part of the deal and contractually she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to, so he surely must be disillusioned if he thought the hand on his shoulder now was some form of amity.

Shego was tugging him back from his desk. “Come on, doc,” she said. “It’s almost noon, but if we hurry, we can catch breakfast at Cow-n-Chow before the menu change.”

His stomach growled at the mere mention. He wrapped an arm around himself and bit back a groan. “I can cook—”

“I have to go home eventually.”

Drakken sighed and straightened up. “You have no shame in taking advantage and bending me to your will, do you?”

She smirked and his knees felt weak. “None whatsoever,” she answered wryly. She grabbed him by the necktie next, and like a dog on a leash, he was towed away from his desk and cannon project.

Even if she was leaving sooner than he would have liked – and involved risking taking the stolen car back out in public in broad daylight, identifying busted rear window be damned – at least the venture wasn’t without some benefit. Shego directed him to hit up the drive-thru, her reasoning being that leaving the stolen vehicle too long in a parking lot visible from Main Street raised the likelihood of a patrol car cruising by and recognizing it. Although Dr. Drakken was fairly certain he’d never seen an officer in town before, Shego assured him there were. When questioned how she knew, she clammed up.

He might have been more irked by her causing trouble around town if it didn’t sting to know she’d been causing it without him. Glaring at the road only served to spike his lingering headache.

Drakken expected to drop her off, but once he stopped at the curb, she grabbed the single paper sack of Chow and nodded to the apartments as she popped her door.

“It’ll be cold by the time you get back,” Shego explained, an offer in her tone.

It didn’t require much effort on her part for him to take the bait, even as hesitant as he now was to leave the stolen vehicle in the open for prying eyes. If it was swarmed by police or impounded in the next few minutes, so be it.

It was worth it to watch her climb the staircase ahead of him, allowing him an opportunity to imprint in his mind the way his sweater hung around her. It reminded him of her slim figure in contrast to his own frame, and he squared his shoulders with a small flicker of pride, which was blown out when she turned to glance down at him as she reached the top.

He tore his stare away, peeking back at the exposed station wagon once more before following his accomplice inside.

The studio was still bare-bones, but beginning to look lived in. It was cold though, and the space heater required a thump before it began glowing and radiating heat. The bed in the niche was off the floor now, and unmade but at least there were blankets and pillows. Across from it was a television with a small stock of disorganized VHS tapes, a few of which Drakken was sure came from his own entertainment center. On the floor in between, more blankets and a spare pillow, which Shego was quick to kick under her bed along with the betraying rattle of cans.

Drakken rolled his eyes, deciding not to comment on the mess. Her face was flushed enough already as she flicked on the TV, tweaked the rabbit-ears, and rejoined him once she had the news playing across the room.

A round café table stood on a single leg in the dining area in the heart of the kitchen, paired with mismatched chairs, one folding and the other a proper wooden dining chair. It was all undoubtedly second-hand and Drakken had a hunch also stolen property. But it served its purpose.

His gaze shifted to the VHS tapes and back to the old table. “Did you take that from Jackass's?” he wondered. What other decor had she stolen?

Shego scoffed. “Steal from my boss? Never.” A wily smirk flashed across her face for a split second.

Drakken rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

Plastic utensils and styrofoam platters of warm flapjacks with Cow-n-Chow specialty maple syrup had a certain charm, though he still wondered inwardly if she had the supplies on hand to whip up a second serving. Which was a ridiculous thought, given he was barely halfway through his own meal by the time she’d nearly cleared her tray. She’d made quick work of her breakfast, even with her eyes glued to the television clear across the room.

He couldn’t be sure when she’d paused to look his way with an arched eyebrow, but suddenly she was calling his name – _pet name, _rather – and he blinked away the stupor.

“Dr. D? You good, buddy?” she chirped, breaking the silence that had settled, otherwise interrupted only by the droning weather forecast. She stabbed at her side of scrambled eggs to mix up with her chopped sausage patty. He was starting to gather she had a big appetite she was hesitant to show. “You look tired,” she added after a moment, making him realize he was mute and still staring.

Drakken shook his pounding head and took an idle look about the shabby little studio. His eyes fell on the dripping faucet. “I’m dandy,” he uttered, the most he could manage at the moment as he got his thoughts in order.

“You sure? You kinda zoned out there,” said Shego critically.

“This syrup is too sweet. It’s giving me a toothache,” he griped, reaching to rub his cheek, but maybe it was a poor attempt to hide behind his hand. It wasn’t completely a lie anyway, although he still had to hope he didn’t sound too defensive or deceitful. He wasn’t about to admit he’d been marveling over something as trivial as having someone to share a meal with, even if it was in a crappy apartment and served on styrofoam. He knew better, but he couldn’t quite freeze the warmth in his belly. Letting her lure him inside may have been a mistake.

Shego hummed and popped up to get into her fridge, almost as if intentionally putting herself back in his line of sight.

He frowned back toward the television instead, the weather having shifted to something about holiday festivities. A hectic Friday night was enough for one week, so he kept his lips zipped tight, lest he ask for her Halloween night as well. The bluffed toothache was really beginning to get to him anyway, making it easier to divert his thoughts. He glared to the cup of syrup, deciding there had to be some creative way to twist the offending condiment into something devious and profitable.

A mug was pushed across the table to him then. He stared at it and up to Shego still stirring what he had to guess was a tall glass of tart lemonade. She shrugged and mumbled, “Hot cocoa. Something to wash it down might help the toothache.”

He was reluctant to admit that it did the trick. All the more reluctant when she was watching him. She took a couple more bites of her breakfast before she shook her head and snorted on a small laugh, earning his glare. “I’m sorry,” she muttered behind her wrist, waving a hand. “You know you’re still, uhm. Still wearing those?”

Drakken checked himself over, unsure what she was gesturing at until she reached across to grab his wrist to push back his sleeve. He had only a fuzzy recollection of how a pair of separated metal cuffs _may _have wound up clasped around his wrists, and in all honesty, he was so used to wearing wristwatches that he’d been obliviously numb to them until now.

He took his hand back from her to rub his aching head. “What did we do last night?” he grumbled. He wasn’t expecting an answer.

Shego gave a hearty laugh as she stood. “You don’t remember?” she called back teasingly just before shoveling the last of her food in her mouth to toss her cleared tray in the trashcan.

“The officer,” he mumbled, and suddenly he jumped up, gawping at her. “You killed a man last night!” he accused.

Shego shook her head, unkempt hair bouncing around her face. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she dismissed and nodded to the television as she sauntered back across the room on her way to the dresser beside it. “Nothing about it on TV, anyway. He probably woke up and didn’t remember a thing.” She sounded optimistic.

Drakken grunted, deciding she may have a point. Total amnesia might be the best-case scenario, but if last night’s mischief involved the murder of an officer, then it would surely be all over the news. He supposed he was somewhat to blame as well for letting things get so far out of hand. So he sat back down to sip on his hot cocoa and push his tray of half-eaten pancakes aside, deciding he wasn’t very hungry anymore.

Returning to the table, Shego scooted her heavy wooden dining chair over, and Drakken arched his brow at her as she yanked his wrist across the table toward her. A couple of simple pins did the trick to free his wrist, and he gladly surrendered the other.

No sooner had she given him his hands back to let him rub his wrists did the trill of a telephone give him a start. Shego was frozen on the edge of her seat.

“Are you going to answer that?” he uttered when she didn’t move a muscle.

Shego sighed and slowly stood. _“Probably,” _she said lazily. She patted his shoulder as she sidestepped around behind him, noting, “You need to get going, huh? You’ve got a cannon to build. I’d hate to keep you.”

He understood the hint, but he wasn’t one to take being brushed off so readily. So he hummed as he rose, savoring the fact she hadn’t stepped away, so he could stare down at her impatient frown. He cracked a smirk. “I take it then that you _don’t _want to hear how I plan to tamper with the production of leading syrup brands to cause mass hysteria and sell an antidote for a pretty penny?” It was a stretch, but he’d decide if he was joking or not depending on her reaction.

Shego rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to verbally tell him what she thought of the ludicrous idea, but she did anyway. “You are indeed a madman, Dr. Drakken,” she said, giving him a thump on the chest. Her eyes dropped, and she tugged his tie snug around his neck. “Good thing it suits you.”

His stare was momentarily locked on the teeth sinking into her lip.

Drakken decided suddenly that he really did have that cannon to get back to. He stepped back hastily, searching for the door. “Well, see you around,” he chimed with a betraying nervous waver. “Thank you for the cocoa moo – uh – hot cocoa.”

The sound of the telephone ringing off the hook followed him out the door, which reminded him of something important. It could wait though. Now probably wasn’t the time to double back to ask his accomplice for her number.

She could keep the sweater.


	19. Welfare Check – 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pretends I know what I'm saying*

With a little luck, some hobbyist with a destructive streak would make the incinerator cannon project pay for itself, assuming he didn’t keep it for his own arsenal. Bugs had been worked out in prototypes months ago, but something had come up and it was put on the back burner like everything else, shoved aside into one of the storage rooms until now. Now Drakken was left with finalizing it, piecing together framework that would support the internal components stored in a nearby crate, just waiting to be assembled.

It would have been nice to have a henchman to lend a hand in hoisting hefty core elements into place in a skeletal cradle affixed to the tripod, but after some straining and grunting against a throbbing headache, Drakken managed it on his own. Without anyone to snap at to hold it steady for him, the thick steel barrel rested heavily on his shoulder as he fastened it in place as well.

He backed away slowly and breathed a sigh of relief when his project didn’t teeter and topple over.

He’d always been fine working on his own, even if doing so made it harder on himself, but he was really beginning to wish there was someone close at hand to fetch the equipment he needed next along with the crate of custom-ordered pieces of the hull he was left to weld and bolt together. Someone to grab him some aspirin would have been nice too.

Headache aside, keeping busy kept his mind off a particular assistant. Moping over the uncertainty of when he’d next see her wouldn’t do him any good anyway – and spacing out over it only resulted in dropping a heavy ratchet on his toe.

Under normal circumstances, it really shouldn’t have taken him several hours to construct a carapace around the otherwise-prebuilt-but-considerably-disassembled cannon. It especially shouldn’t have begun looking like a Picasso, a far cry still from the menacing weapon of destruction he’d envisioned.

Grumbling, he inspected the plans he’d neglected to follow – plans _he’d_ drawn up, damn it – but his memory served him right. All the buttons and knobs were where they were meant to be, all the wiring and critical inner mechanisms too, and slowly but surely, the jigsaw carapace was coming together as planned.

He crumpled the diagrams and cast the wadded paper aside. He was just impatient. It would look better once it was finished and sporting a shiny coat of paint.

It was in the midst of welding yet more steel slabs together, puzzling together the hull around the deadly weapon piece by piece, when something began to tick at his subconscious. Something was out of place.

Drakken eventually flicked off the welder and pulled off his gloves and mask to thoroughly double-check the components of the seven-foot cannon standing at three-quarters completion, but he couldn’t place what was jarring his nerves. He was overlooking _something,_ but for the life of him, he couldn’t pinpoint it.

Vexed, he reached up to run his fingers through his hair and scratch his head, but paused as his hand grazed over the nape of his neck. The elastic band that had been snuck into his hair _yesterday_ was still there. If he still had the headache, he might have been apt to blame it on the ponytail. He ought to have done away with it when he’d showered last night, but must have overlooked it in his haze. It explained why his neck felt a little colder and why he’d yet to have to tuck his hair back out of the way of sparks today.

The band had begun slipping down, so he pulled it out and shook his hair free with a contented sigh. He nearly shot the lousy band to some dark corner of the lab, but stopped himself. Letting his hair grow out wasn’t so much a conscious choice as it was due to neglect, not that he minded it for the sake of hiding behind as much of it as possible now that he was blue. A ponytail might defeat the purpose, but he wasn’t particularly fond of the smell of burnt hair or in the mood for an impromptu haircut, and a hair tie _was_ effective in keeping it safely pulled back.

Drakken scowled at the green elastic band in his palm, and reprimanded himself before he could overthink it. His appearance was judged enough on a regular day. Wearing something which served a function couldn’t possibly hurt his villain image any more – not like there was anyone around to judge him in his own lab, anyway.

Fingers fumbling behind his head, he tried to tie his tangled hair back again, redoing it several times because it sat weird or felt like an uncomfortable knot at the back of his head or made him wince when it pulled painfully. By the fifth attempt, he grunted his frustration and was about to give up and flick the band – and suddenly fine hands were batting his away, and before he could startle and whip around, the invading fingers had expertly fixed the ponytail.

As silently as she’d come, Shego sauntered away without ever looking him in the eye, returning to an open magazine and sitting sidelong in his computer chair. It was then that Drakken understood with queasy humiliation why things may have been feeling _off_ for a while now.

There was no telling how long she’d been there, potentially watching him given the chair had been turned away from the desk to face him. He wondered with a hot face if she’d seen him burn his thumb with a soldering iron, or drop the ratchet on his foot, or how long she might have delighted in watching him fumble with tasks which would have benefited from the aid of extra hands.

He doubted she was back to return the sweater she’d borrowed earlier, as she was still in it. In the spirit of the season, she’d added a little bat brooch too.

Drakken pulled his gloves and mask back on for a minute more, hastily finishing up the section of welding he’d paused in the midst of. Although he could hardly see her through the tinted window, he was positive she was indeed watching over the top of her magazine. Soon enough, he discarded his gear once and for all along with the tools on the nearby workbench.

He had half a mind to snip and ask what she was doing back at the lair so soon after making him risk driving her into town in a stolen vehicle, but he was still too flustered to speak. He checked his watch – it was almost six in the evening, late enough to call it dinnertime – so he skulked away without even extending a greeting, retreating to his personal quarters instead.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich was wolfed down in the time it took him to throw himself down onto the couch and fish out the pocket notebook from the jacket he’d thrown over the back.

Not a minute later, he heard the door creak open, but he didn’t look up. His computer chair must not have been so comfortable after all, because Shego migrated to the other end of the couch, sliding over the spine and dropping into the cushions with a big huff to resume flipping through her magazine there, one leg still hooked over the back of the couch.

Drakken doubted it was an unintentional bump when the toe of a sneaker nudged his hip, but he refused to look up. He focused on the notepad to ignore her, thinking up a more aesthetically pleasing design for the incinerator cannon, writing off the failed Picasso shell he’d abandoned in the lab. It would look better when it was completed and polished up, he still told himself. He just didn’t need to be working under anyone’s critical stare right now.

There was no mistaking it when Shego lit up a cigarette. She was fishing for attention, or a reaction, or _something _– only Drakken was too stubborn to yield. She flicked her ashes in a green ashtray that had taken residence on his coffee table just for her, and if polluting the stagnant air of his living room with smoke wasn’t aggravating, having her hog the couch and rest her heels on his knee certainly was.

He refused to give her the satisfaction of a glare or a sneer or any other indication she was on the verge of getting his goat, but how long he could keep that up was anyone’s guess. She was getting closer to it when she snuffed out the cigarette and took her goading a step further, sitting up and scooting over to Drakken’s side of the couch. She went as far as to prop an arm up over his shoulder as she leaned decidedly too far into his personal space.

It was hard to argue with the proximity, even if it felt of a teasing nature, like pigtail pulling. If making him lose focus on the new concept design he was sketching out was her goal, she was on the right track, twirling his new ponytail around a finger for good measure. He steeled himself against her tactics. So close to his ear, her grunt of irritation had a rather disagreeable effect on his nervous system, but he kept his eyes fixed on the page and didn’t bolt even as the sketch lost shape. He was only going through the motions now. He had been for a while, really.

Leaning against him didn’t do the trick, nor did the hair-pulling or breathing on him – which must have left her desperate to make him crack first, because she undoubtedly crossed the line next.

She was quick about it, but he might have been somewhat to blame for falling for it by lifting his arm at the slight tug of his elbow, inadvertently giving her an opening to slip in. Breathing down his neck would have been preferable to her rear landing where it didn’t certainly belong. Pretending she wasn’t there was impossible, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t stubbornly try as she leaned back against him, giving him hardly any room at all to peer over her shoulder until he parted his knees to drop her between them. That wasn’t much better – not when his notebook was still spread on _her_ lap.

His train of thought was broken after all. There was no more ignoring the nuisance.

Frozen to the spot, Drakken was torn between gasping for air and holding his breath, but he had to breathe eventually and her hair smelled nice even if weirdly of cucumbers. Barely masked by the fragrance of her shampoo, he picked up traces of a particular odor, and had to wonder if she was high. She was acting strange enough, the odds were probably pretty good, he decided.

Notebook snapped shut and pen clipped to the cover, his idle hands nearly hovered over her hips – but then he balled them into fists and drove them into the cushion on either side of him to keep his paws to himself. If he could, he would have leaned even further back to put distance between his face and her hair, although having her disengaged from him entirely would have been preferable. He didn’t need to be treated like an armchair, for crying out loud.

Words failed him for a moment until he cleared his throat and tried again, “Don’t you have something better to do?” He tried to muster up some resent for the disrespect, but wasn’t sure how good a job he did at masking his nerves.

“Not yet,” she answered nonchalantly as she reclined back. He was effectively trapped. “Just killing time.” Devoid of guilt, it might as well have been a confession of fishing for a reaction for no other purpose than to entertain herself. He couldn’t be sure he wanted to be included in whatever game she was playing.

Drakken raised his brow at her as she innocently fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, coaxing his hand from the cushion and uncurling his white-knuckled fist. He couldn’t block her smooth fingertips from his senses even if he’d wanted to. His other hand found its way to her hip after all, although he had half a mind to shove her off. “You came all the way out of town and up the mountain to _kill time?”_ he said, and scoffed. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I know of a party tonight,” Shego began to explain. Her soft hand over his suddenly felt like pins-and-needles and was almost painfully warm, a little like plunging icy hands under hot water.

Drakken had enough sense to heed an alarm bell tolling in his skull, and jerked his hand away from her hazardous touch.

With a yelp of indignation, Shego was abruptly deposited on the floor in the most ungraceful manner. She was blushing furiously as she scrambled to pick herself up, and Drakken swore he felt her eyes burning into his back as he strode away to the kitchen.

“That’s nice,” he called back dismissively. He rummaged in the fridge for the jelly to fix himself another sandwich, keeping his back to her as Shego followed hot on his tail.

Her mood had soured, but rebuffs had a way of doing that to a person he supposed, so Drakken didn’t hold the attitude against her. Shego leaned against the counter next to him as he glopped jelly on white bread, forcing herself into his peripheral. She crossed her arms and glared. “Yeah. There’s supposed to be booze and a heated pool and hot dudes and chicks,” she said dryly. “It’s gonna be real _great.”_

Drakken nodded, mumbling, “Mm-hm.” Why was she telling him this? When had he ever given the impression he was a partygoer? “Sounds lovely. Have fun, stay safe, arrange for a designated driver,” he advised with disinterest – but then a zap on his hip made him shoot daggers over to the slightly-maybe-possibly-high woman in his kitchen.

Feigning innocence, she rested an elbow in her palm and twirled a lock of her raven hair around a finger.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you want from me, Shego?” he finally griped. He didn’t mean for it to come out so pathetic. Her smirk nearly melted the resolve he had to give her a cold shoulder. He’d fall under her spell with that look alone if he was any weaker.

“A favor,” she said smoothly. “Nothing much. Just hoped you could whip something up for me.” She nodded to the door to the lab.

He raised a brow. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, but it explained her behavior – although ulterior motives didn’t make him feel any better. He squared his shoulders, reluctant to let her wrap him around her finger so easily – even if she slipped behind him, twirling his hair around one such dainty finger before giving his tense shoulders a squeeze, kneading him as part of some blatant manipulation ploy. It was working.

His legs felt weak.

The thought of adding a clause in the contract to strictly forbid such manipulative conduct crossed his mind but was dismissed just as quickly.

Grunting, Drakken slapped the poorly-spread PB&J together and took an aggressive bite of the sandwich. She could remove her weird warm tingly hands any time now – he was already bending to her will – but he was greedily hesitant to snip at her to back off. A mouthful of peanut butter was partly to blame as well.

_“Like?”_ he prompted mid-chew. He nearly choked on it when he gulped down that first bite.

She let go. He breathed easy, but she wasn’t done with her persuasive tactics yet, as she fetched a quart of milk from the fridge to pass to him. He drank from it shamelessly – it was _his_ milk, he could drink from the carton if he wanted – but was aware of her lazy gaze on him all the while.

Shego was fidgeting with her own hair again, leaning against the counter. _“Well, _you want me to keep a low profile, so physical and property damage are out if I can help it,” she went on carefully.

He eyed her curiously, unsure what she was getting at. “I’m confused. I thought you were going to a party?” he uttered dumbly.

“Oh, I wasn’t invited,” she clarified, dripping with resent. He had the sense some of it was aimed at him. “I’m going to crash it. Nate’s going to be there, and I figured you could give me a hand since _you’re_ the crazy inventor that got me dumped.” She had to be sober, with a glare like that.

Drakken nearly choked on peanut butter again. “Why are you blaming me?” he spat defensively.

“Uh, hello?” Shego snapped back, and poked him in the chest to drive her point. “Random weird dude shows up in the middle of the night to whisk me off and I can’t explain why? You’re dumber than I thought if you don’t think there’s something fishy about that. Now this loser’s calling me a tramp and thinks I’m in a gang or something, and—argh!” She heaved a huge groan of aggravation, hands waving in exasperation with green sparks jumping from them.

Drakken tore his eyes away from the glittering release. Rallying his own irritation to hide his unease at the implications, he gave a contemptuous snort. “That boyfriend of yours didn’t make any calls thinking I abducted you, did he?” he asked, and tasted bile. He checked the expiration date on the milk and ruled it out.

“Nah, you’re good,” Shego dismissed, but by the flick of her eyes, he had a suspicion she wasn’t so sure. “And he’s not my boyfriend. He just _wishes.”_

“Then why—?”

“Anyway, I want payback,” she interjected. “You game? Or am I wasting my time?”

Aggravation subsiding somewhat, he gave it a moment of consideration, chewing slow and setting his half-eaten sandwich aside. Whether he liked it or not, she had him wrapped around her finger and under her spell. He might have been a little too keen on giving the dog boy a bad day as well, but he kept the impulse subdued. Or at least he made an effort to.

Drakken shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Remind me, how vengeful are we talking?” he asked wryly. Shego smirked up at him as a devious grin stretched across his face. Without a doubt, she had him bent to her will, and he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. He was in over his head.

He was still delighted to have her following on his heels back to his lab though, the opportunity to show off almost intoxicating. She reiterated her limits – she was restricted to ultimately harmless chaos – and in ten minutes flat, Dr. Drakken had constructed for her a time bomb of sorts, loaded with the ingredients to produce a foul stench promised to clear the block. Hence the necessity for a countdown, so the prankster herself could make her getaway when the time came.

A cliché alarm clock strapped to a small metal box to protect the delicate inner workings of a malicious stink bomb was his gift to her, along with a warning not to jostle it. As he handed it over, he suggested impishly, “Hide it in a vent. The smell will linger for _days_ and they’ll never know what hit them.” He knew that from experience. He’d used such a device once or twice himself, resulting in the evacuation of a college dormitory.

Barely heeding Drakken’s warning, Shego elbowed him in good humor and gave him her thanks. She invited him once more to come crash the party with her, but he respectfully declined, using the excuse he had an incinerator cannon to finish. He wasn’t sure if she was merely playing or serious, but his chest still bled warmth as she batted her eyes up at him and promised to make it worth his time. At which point he plucked her hand from his necktie and brusquely turned her to the door, refusing to let the same brand of devious trickery work twice to swindle anything else out of him. She’d tested him enough for one day anyway.

Shego shot him an annoyed frown over her shoulder as she left to stir mayhem with his creation.

Just as soon as she was out the door and out of sight, Drakken ran a hand down his face with a stern scolding to banish the cursed warmth dancing around inside of him. He was just happy to make a device for mischief and took pleasure in knowing the misery it would cause – that was all. That was what he tried to convince himself. It absolutely _couldn’t_ be giddiness trying to bubble up at the idea his partner in crime might have cut it off with that short-lived getaway driver of hers and was out to enact revenge, and that maybe it might potentially free up time for him soon so that maybe she might even spend her downtime lazing about the lair like she had in the first few weeks of her stay.

It was wishful thinking.


	20. Welfare Check – 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uberlate update because I got uberdistracted. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

When Drakken returned to his kitchen once his company left, he found the sack of cash from the Vegas exchange on the counter, the very sack he’d forgotten in her backpack. He was almost as pleased to find not a single bill was missing as he was to find a sticky-note with her number stuck to the top of one bundle.

He had it memorized at the first glance, but he still pinned the note to the wall by the telephone for safe keeping.

The very telephone he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off for the rest of the night. He was on his toes, eager for a call to tell him how it went. Not that she’d ever suggested she might give him a review, but he still hoped for one. He began to dread a mishap – what if the malodorous bomb had backfired? She’d be livid. She’d definitely let him know. When he’d received no praise or derision by midnight, he rang her instead, and was disappointed that she didn’t answer. He swallowed dryly and hung up before the beep.

It must have been courtesy of Shego that a henchman marched into Drakken’s lab first thing Sunday morning, just as he was psyching himself out to return to work on the cannon. The henchman’s red jumpsuit was filthy and he tracked sand in as he came to personally report that the van had been recovered.

Curiosity was enough to tempt Drakken to the garage.

On the way, he tore out the elastic band from his hair, although he slipped it onto his wrist rather than discarding it entirely. One henchman catching him wearing a “cute” ponytail, as Shego called it, was one too many. Putting his hair back this morning in the first place had been silly.

As Drakken skulked out into the garage, he had decidedly bigger things to worry about than his hairdo. Like repairing the van. He took one look at it and groaned, shoving up his glasses to rub his eyes and growl out a curse into his hands. He had to pull his glasses back on eventually to face the damages.

At a glance, the van didn’t  _ look _ totaled, but it still wasn’t a pretty sight. Not that it ever had been – not since he’d owned it, anyway. It would take a lot more than some elbow grease to buff out the wall of dents and gouged metal on the driver’s side. How Shego had come away with little more than a cut or two was a wonder in itself.

He hoped the TLC and repairs the van needed wouldn’t cut far into his profit margin. It was undoubtedly uglier and in need of new windows, but he was relieved to hear no one had scavenged it for parts and it hadn’t needed to be towed.

The filthy henchmen who had ventured out to scour the desert for the van and bring it home were dispersing now, though one particularly bold goon thought it wise to hover nearby and wonder, “What did we miss, anyway?”

Drakken set a foot on the gnarled bumper and eyed a smashed headlight. “Wish I could tell you,” he answered flippantly. Honestly though, it was a tad hazy. There’d been gambling and vandalism, he remembered that well enough, and then he’d smuggled his partner in crime into a villain-exclusive pub for bite to eat before they hit the road, and he’d gauged her response to such unscrupulous company while he was at it, and things had gotten a little carried away from there. Next thing he knew, he was living in the moment and having the time of his life when suddenly the little thrill ride Shego had them on took an unexpected turn, and the world had continued to spin for a while after that. He had the evidence of a carjacking parked nearby, and had watched the news intently again this morning, waiting for his or his accomplice’s names to be broadcast as the suspects in a supposed “hit and run” that had left an officer hospitalized yesterday morning. So far, it appeared they were getting off scot-free.

Just thinking about it was enough to make his head spin all over again. He reached for his temple and bit back a groan.

That was when the henchman added to his headache by grunting, “Not the kiss and tell type. Got it.” Before Drakken could whirl to snap at the hired muscle to mind his own business, the fellow had already flipped on a shop-vac to begin cleaning up the mess of glass and rock littering the van.

Another henchman was there to quickly distract him anyway, going over a list of problems and repairs that needed to be made, assuming Drakken still wanted to keep the sorry tin can given the shape it was in. He sighed and gave the order to do whatever it took to restore the rig and get it presentable and roadworthy again, and to give the stolen station wagon similar treatment.

Overseeing repairs was as good a distraction as any to keep him from waiting out by the phone on the off chance his unruly accomplice called. She was probably just busy with her alone time or off stirring trouble and getting into the spirit of the season, he told himself. If she popped back in on her day off to report the results in person, that would be lovely, but he didn’t hold his breath.

Loitering in the garage, Drakken perched up in the jet left half-gutted, smiling contentedly at the machine with the knowledge it had been stolen right out from under the noses of superheroes. He wondered briefly if his accomplice could teach him to fly it, but halted the train of thought once he realized it was back on her.

He tried to contemplate instead how he might use the stolen tech he now had at his disposal. Notebook nowhere to be found, he resorted to a clipboard and scrap printer paper to make a few notes and jot a few ideas. He’d still yet to fully understand all the ins-and-outs of the craft, so he had a lot of familiarizing to do.

Meanwhile, the garage door remained open, and for the life of him he couldn’t keep his eyes on the jet where they belonged.

It was autumn, and it was getting colder as autumn should. The subterranean lair was almost as cool on any given day in summer, so Drakken was indifferent to the chill until it began sinking into his bones as the temperature dropped with the overcast and setting sun. A henchman with a truck had returned a while ago from the big city with the new panes of glass and some extra odds and ends to give the van and wagon tune-ups, and the crew was busy installing and repairing, chattering and laughing and making a commotion, oblivious to the nippiness or the gloom settling outside.

Drakken gave the distant front gate one last disappointed look before hitting the button on the wall to shut the garage door so he wouldn’t have to see it anymore.

He meant to return to supervising the henchmen and studying the jet, but instead he found himself back in his kitchen, back at the phone, listening to instructions to leave a message at the beep, which he didn’t follow. Then he was rummaging through a storage room, hoping an unexpected raven-haired guest would pop up to give him a heart attack and make his ill-conceived endeavor pointless, but she never did.

Several minutes later, he was back in the garage, just passing through. The henchmen acting as grease monkeys didn’t even look up as he cut through their midst on the way to the side exit.

He wished he’d thought to grab a flashlight as he climbed the hillside in the dark, a secure case tucked safely under on arm as he tripped over roots and obstacles on the path. His accomplice was lucky to have the superpower of giving herself a little light whenever it was needed. It would have been nice if she were with him now, so he could ask her to spare some, but then again, he probably wouldn’t be stumbling his way up the hill now if she was with him.

The trees opened up to a small recreation area sporting a fire pit and a picnic table he rarely used himself, but he made use of it now. High-powered binoculars he’d cobbled together himself some years ago were propped up on a tripod and set on the table where he settled in.

Some adjustments and muttered curses and more adjustments, and he managed to focus the crude homemade device on the little oasis in the valley, straining his eyes as he did. Town wasn’t terribly far away, but it was far enough not to get his hopes up to see anything in great detail. The glittering pool of colorful lights was lively though, and even more so through the binoculars. It would have been easy to get distracted by all the amusing decorations strewn through town, but if he wanted to sightsee, he could just take a stroll through town tomorrow himself when the festivities peaked.

It took some time, and it was thoroughly dark when Drakken finally pinpointed the neighborhood he sought. A few more adjustments and he had a fleeting swell of bigheaded triumph when he found the apartments – and better yet, her window.

And then he leaned back from the binoculars, suddenly not so sure if he could now be classified as a peeping tom. He groaned and scratched at his scalp as he skewed his eyes shut, swearing he could hear her chewing him out for having the audacity to look through her windows from miles away.

But he didn’t mean anything bad by it! And even if he did, he was a  _ villain, _ wasn’t he? At least he was trying to be. She should expect something thoughtlessly crude like spying. It wasn’t like his intent was to snoop into anything private for any seedy purposes. He was only curious why she hadn’t returned his call. And he was worried, and his rig was currently up on jacks so it wasn’t like he could just drive over to see for himself. She hadn’t been caught and arrested for anything, had she?

Hazarding another peek, Drakken determined that her lights were off but the television was on, judging by the flickers through the blinds. He sat back again and rubbed his eyes, pushing the binoculars aside to make it harder to steal another glance without spending another five minutes refocusing them. She was home, watching TV, keeping out of trouble. Good. That was enough for him – that was all he needed to know.

He still wondered, when he returned to his kitchen and glanced toward the phone, if he ought to try calling again. But he stuck his nose up and set his resolve that he wasn’t that desperate for feedback.

Or maybe he was.

Left hanging, he spent half the night again dreading the bomb had backfired. She was probably plotting his demise by now, if it had.

By morning, the station wagon was just shy of good as new. The van meanwhile still had dents and dings to work out, though it was perfectly operational by now as well, but he still opted for the stolen wheels. According to the weather report that greeted him, the oasis was due for some morning showers. He hadn’t needed much more convincing than that to grab his keys and head out so early.

While glowering out at the fog and drizzle, he managed to convince himself he wasn’t taking a drive to town at five in the morning for a damn pat on the back. He was just going for coffee and breakfast from the Cow-n-Chow drive-thru. That he picked up a second order just in case he got hungry again later and passed by his accomplice’s residence too was just a coincidence, but since he was there, he might as well see if the civilian Shilo would like a lift to Buckley’s Brew.

He set his resolve to wait at the curb before he’d even parked, but something unusual about the apartment caught his eye as he cut the engine, tempting him to change his mind.

Sipping his steaming coffee weakened with cream and sugar, Drakken peered up at the dingy building, somewhat foreboding so early in the morning with all but a couple porch lights still off. He wondered if he ought to wait for inevitable sunrise to leach away the twilight before venturing out to even see if she was home, but that notion was dismissed just as soon as freezing fog began to frost over his windshield within a minute or so of parking.

He’d gathered already that 5:20 AM was much too early for her to consider morning, so why her door was wide open was anyone’s guess.

Someone may have broken in, he considered as he climbed the slippery concrete staircase. The iron railing wasn’t much good when it was just as slick and cold. Intruder or otherwise, someone was inside – he could smell cigarette smoke drifting out as he reached the top of the stairs, along with an overlaying odor that had nothing to do with his bomb. Various fragrances too, which did a poor job of covering it up and only served to make him scrunch his nose.

When Drakken peered through the open door into the dark studio apartment, he found his accomplice perfectly awake and puffing at a cigarette.

His brow furrowed the scene lain out before him, and at her in particular. She had some nerve to complain  _ he _ didn’t take care of himself.

A sway away from falling out the second-story window, Shego – rather,  _ Shilo _ was precariously balanced on the windowsill, legs drawn up to support a small leather-bound notebook on her knees, reading it by the dim green glow at her fingertips, dangerously close to lighting the pages on fire. It took Drakken only a second to recognize it was  _ his.  _ It was only a pad to jot down ideas on the go, but it was an invasion of privacy nonetheless. Try as he might to rack his brains, he couldn’t recall her swiping it from him – although he’d certainly allowed her to get close enough to do so a good handful of times.

Before Drakken could remember what he’d come here for, a loud snore startled him and his gaze darted from the woman in the window to a body wrapped up in a blanket on the floor beneath her. If it weren’t for a leash tied to the foot of the bed with an empty collar attached at the end of it, Drakken might not have recognized her guest. Unlike Shilo, who had the decency to wear a full set of pajamas – more conservative than anything he knew she even owned – what’s-his-face the dog boy was only half-dressed at best, blanket covering him from the torso down. Beer cans littered the floor around the guest, along with other paraphernalia that explained the smell in the air which most certainly didn’t come from the numerous candles burning.

It was a struggle to ignore the mess and fix his eyes back on the superhuman in the window as Drakken took a cautious step in. “Stinkinator didn’t go as planned, hm?” he whispered, crossing his fingers in his pocket that he didn’t sound too disheartened.

“It detonated,” Shilo answered calmly, just as quietly. She didn’t spare him a glance in greeting as she flipped a page in his notebook and flicked her ashes out the window. “Worked like a charm. Only problem was dipshit followed me back. Kinda why I tried getting you to come with me, but you couldn’t take a hint.”

Drakken shied back from the bite in her tone, and narrowed his eyes spitefully at the sleeping body on the floor instead. He supposed the arrangement could be worse, but it was still displeasing to find dog boy had eluded the blast and stuck around after all. “I find it hard to believe you couldn’t fend him off yourself,” he whispered skeptically. He wasn’t sure what good he’d have been by joining her anyway. She could tie the boy in a pretzel if she wanted. She didn’t need help shaking the dirtbag.

Shilo leveled her glare on Drakken for a moment before snorting her frustration. “You shouldn’t be here. What do you want?” she asked coldly, going back to reading his entries.

“I thought I might give you a ride to the café,” he fibbed as he scanned the dim apartment for the dog. He’d really have a beef with the punk if he were bitten by the animal. He wasn’t going to ask about the dog lest he let his apprehension be known, but he had a growing suspicion Shilo had left the door open despite the autumn chill for the specific cruel purpose of letting her guest’s pet run away.

“That’s nice of you,” she said dismissively. “But I’ll have to pass.”

Drakken quirked his brow at her and crept a little closer. He wrung his hands. “I didn’t get you in trouble with Buckley over the whole Friday thing, did I?” There’d be hell to pay if he’d surrendered another recipe for  _ nothing. _

Shilo shook her head. “What are you  _ really _ doing here, Doc?” she sighed. “It better be important. Here to whisk me away again?” She almost sounded hopeful, but maybe he was imagining it.

“You never called to fill me in,” he admitted, mustering up some irritation for the fact.

She snorted lightly and took a drag. “I’m not contractually obligated to,” she chirped.

“Right,” Drakken muttered. He stood in silence for a moment more, rubbing his neck in discomfort and feeling worse the longer he stayed. Her guest was sure to wake if they kept chatting like this. “I’ll just get out of your hair then,” he mumbled. A call  _ had _ been too much to hope for. That was just a little bit crushing. And finding an unsavory fellow here was an unprecedented blow which inspired a sense of loathing. Unwarranted inferiority crept up on him as he made for the door.

“Hey, Doc,” his accomplice called softly, and as much as he wanted to keep walking, he rolled his eyes and peered over his shoulder. She held up his notebook as if she were about to play fetch with a dog. “Forgetting something?”

She didn’t throw it though, instead making Drakken stalk across the studio to her, meticulously picking his way around the sleeping body and beer cans. As he made a grab for it, she held it out into the open air, out of reach. By the dim glow of the scattered scented candles, he could see the mischievous spark in her eyes.

“How did you get that?” he hissed demandingly. He shouldn’t be surprised. Discreet thievery was one of her selling points.

“You left it on the couch,” she informed, a wry little smirk quirking her lips. She gave the notebook a taunting wiggle, still held out the window. “I was hoping you’d come after me for it. Better late than never.”

Drakken fixed his scowl on her face at it went solemn, and reached for her shoulder to pull her out of the window by force if he had to, ready to wrestle her for his notebook if that’s what it took.

She wasted no time reminding him she was undoubtedly the stronger of the two when she gripped him by the collar of his jacket and yanked him down closer. He planted his hands on the frame so as not to fall into her or out the second-story window. A yelp of surprise lodged in his throat and he went stock-still at her smoky breath tickling his ear.

“I can’t come around for a while,” she whispered quickly, gravely. “Don’t try to be sneaky and spy on me either. You’ll get yourself caught.”

Bewilderment gave way to a fleeting moment of fear – but there was no way she could have known about him up on the hill last night. His eyes darted in the direction he guessed was home, but it was too foggy and dark out to even make out the mountain the lair was dug into.

“I’ll be in touch when the coast is clear,” she added as she released him, yet he remained frozen to the spot. He didn’t have time to wonder what she could possibly mean by that when the phone on the kitchen counter went off. She handed him his notebook then and gave him a rough shove, nearly sending him tripping back over the guest asleep on the rug behind him.

He kicked a couple of cans as he backed away, wincing at the jarring sound adding to the trill of the telephone, though Shilo didn’t budge from her spot on the windowsill. He glanced to the phone ringing persistently, and cocked his brow back at the young woman he knew was not that hard of hearing. How the guest didn’t wake up was a wonder, which made whispering the whole time feel rather pointless.

Out of curiosity, Drakken retreated to the kitchen to check the caller ID. The area code was as unfamiliar as the rest of the number. Nonetheless, he tentatively wondered aloud, “Should I…?”

_ “No,” _ Shilo answered curtly, her voice suddenly right behind him, making him jump. She cut in front of him to bar him from the phone, arms crossed as she glared past him. Drakken glanced back, following her line of sight to the dirtbag asleep on her floor. When he raised his brow back at her, her eyes were downcast. She looked almost guilty when she grumbled, “It’s  _ them.” _

_ Them _ could mean anyone, but he wasn’t that dumb.

It took but a moment to comprehend what her statement entailed, and Drakken stared at her wide-eyed. Dread – and maybe even fear – prickled at his nerves. They’d talked about this,  _ prepared _ for this. Granted, not a whole lot – but it was the whole reason she was living here in a shabby little studio now rather than with him, resigned to the status of barista in some small-town café. If she didn’t give a good impression for a family reluctant to let her go, a family which had the resources to drag her back, then things could take an unfavorable turn for them both. There were many “worst case scenarios,” such as incarceration, his accomplice returning to Go City, even Team Go relocating to their little Nevada oasis—

“They found you,” he uttered. He really didn’t need to ask. He really didn’t need her confirming his fears.

“Bingo,” was her grim answer.

When she stepped around behind him, he almost turned with her, but then he went rigid at the brush of cold fingers at the nape of his neck and let her fix the ponytail once again. It didn’t feel like he had much choice anyway when she gave it a yank to make him tip his head back to grant her better access. He made a mental note to perfect the art of ponytails – if not to give her one less reason to touch him, then to at least retain some dignity in being competent enough to groom himself to her liking.

Drakken squeezed his eyes shut as if that would help blot out the warm breath on the back of his neck as his partner in crime grumbled,  _ “There. _ That was bugging me.” He hadn’t been  _ that _ bad at it, had he? He made another mental note to look in a mirror next time. If she was finished, then why were her fingers still fidgeting around back there? There was a rhythm to her fidgeting. If he had to guess, she was braiding. Could he rock a braid? He had bigger things to worry about than silly braids.

He wanted to snip at her and jump away and take his leave, but his shoes were full of lead.

She was whispering behind him again anyway. “Sorry, Doc,” she murmured dismally, and the dread settled in the pit of his stomach. “Dipshit over there figured it out and turned me in. Guess he’s still pissy with me about Friday.” She groaned miserably, her head thumping into Drakken’s back. “They’ll be here soon. You should really get going.”

_ Right. _ If they’d found her, there was no way they wouldn’t rush over as soon as possible.

The reminder was enough motivation to move his feet, but Drakken only whirled on his accomplice to gesture wildly toward the punk crashed on her floor surrounded by beer cans, at least one of which was bent out of shape for an improvised pipe. “Not to criticize,” he hissed, “but don’t boys, booze, and dope defeat the purpose of going through the effort to make you look respectable?” He was supposed to be leaving. He didn’t need to be standing around chiding her, but the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Nate’s just a prop,” she dismissed sheepishly as she crossed the room to push the cans under the bed. So hiding the evidence was her plan. Out of sight, out of mind. Now if she’d just kick the sleeping dirtbag under there too.

“What do you mean  _ a prop? _ Who even is this scrub?” Drakken hissed, his temper starting to climb. He was on the verge of frantic, yet she was calm as could be. She was probably high. That might explain how she could be so mellow about the whole thing.

“Does it matter?”

“He sold you out, so I should think so.”

“Don’t sound so ungrateful,” Shego – Shilo – his accomplice snipped over her shoulder. “I’m only keeping him around to keep suspicion off you.”

That gave Drakken pause. He opened his mouth before he had anything to say, but didn’t have time to compose his argument, let alone ask how harboring a scrappy homeless boy would benefit  _ him _ at all.

Shego was dumping an ashtray when a muffled rumble made her freeze – then she dropped the whole thing in the trash bin and whisked past Drakken to slam the front door shut, locking it. Her eyes were wide as she turned to look about her studio apartment poorly lit by candles, and then she was hurriedly blowing them out and gathering laundry off the floor in the dark to throw in a hamper in the bathroom.

Worry curdling in his stomach, Drakken realized the roar was the sound of a jet doing a fly-by, far too close for comfort and getting closer again already. When she’d said they’d be here soon, he didn’t think  _ that _ soon, and it was clear she’d mistakenly made the same assumption. For Pete’s sake, it wasn’t even daybreak! Maybe on the east coast it was, but in Nevada, the average citizen was probably still sound asleep.

“You knew they were coming and you didn’t clean the place up?” he rasped, trying hard not to yell and get caught by the comatose  _ rat _ still snoring away. “It’s a pigsty in here! And is that a bong? It’s like you  _ want _ them to drag you back!” Nerves clutched his chest at the very thought.

The rumble of jet engines were already dying to an idle just outside. Dogs everywhere could be heard barking along with the chorus of tripped car alarms.

The lecture was brief because just as soon as she’d pushed the paraphernalia out of sight under the bed, Shego was whirling on him, stalking up to him to jab a finger sharply at his chest. “You listen here,” she hissed threateningly, “if you keep bitching, I’ll ditch you too – don’t think I won’t! I can have your blue ass thrown in prison in a hot second if I wanted to,  _ so zip it.” _

Drakken didn’t know what hit him when she grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and promptly shoved him back into a cramped coat closet, the door all but slammed in his face. He had no choice but to silence his complaints as a knock at the front door made his blood run cold.


	21. Welfare Check – 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the _"hide secret boyfriend in the closet"_ chapter.

Through the slats, Drakken could see his accomplice peer up and down to check that he was well hidden in her cramped closet. Erring on the side of caution, he pushed his way further back to hide behind the rack of clothes, ducking beneath the shelf. Hiding from her family made him feel like a coward, but what choice was there? It was Shego’s idea anyway. He wasn’t hiding because he was _afraid_ of them. It wasn’t like they were an ordinary family anyway – they were a bunch of lousy superheroes. It was healthy to be cautious of them.

He tried to freeze and breathe as discreetly as possible – but suddenly even his own heartbeat was roaring almost as loud as the jet engines winding down outside the apartment.

The jarring impatient _ding-ding-ding-ding-dong_ of the doorbell was what finally woke the numbskull crashed on Shego’s floor by her bed, made clear by an incoherent grunt of confusion. Drakken couldn’t see him, but he hoped he was realizing how cold it must be without a shirt. He hoped he had pants on though, but not for sake of dog boy’s comfort.

Shego’s eyes darted to her groggy guest and back to the closet before her hands curled into fists, glittering with green embers, and she turned to take a walk of shame with her head low. It was dark and the slats barred his vision, so there wasn’t much he could do to keep a good view of her, though he saw her throw one last glare his way. He tried his best to hold still and pray he didn’t knock anything down lest he blow his cover.

The dumbfounded fellow bundled up in her spare blanket slurred something questioning, followed by the squeak of bedsprings as he flopped himself down in Shego’s bed. What’s-his-name was sure to be in for a big surprise. Drakken wished he could see dog boy’s face when Shego opened up to reveal a massive man blocking the doorway. It was an intimidating sight – even Drakken couldn’t help shying back a little.

The punk had ratted her out and had the gall to stick around. He may have escaped the stinkbomb, but there was no getting out of this one for him. If Shego wanted payback, she was sure to get it one way or another. By the grace of karma, dog boy was now caught red-handed in her bed by an overprotective big brother with a nose for sniffing out the seedy. Team Go was almost exclusive to the east coast, so surely all the Nevadan backstabber knew about the superfolk was the nationwide broadcast regarding the missing _Shego_ and the generous reward offered for information on her whereabouts. By the hissed expletive, Drakken guessed dog boy had also underestimated their ability to show up at a moment’s notice, or at least the intimidation factor.

Before Drakken could grin and revel in the thought of fear struck in the young man’s heart, ear-piercing shrieks split the air.

_“Trick or treat!”_ squealed a pair of little voices in unison, interrupting a tense standoff between Shego and her eldest brother. Two pint-sized children in red pajamas that matched Shego’s uniform sprang up in the doorway and grappled at her waist, and Shego stumbled as she stepped aside to reach into her purse hung beside the door.

“Yeah, yeah – here’s a trick,” she greeted, and the giddy twin kindergarteners leapt back in anticipation, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and bouncing on their toes. With a sleight of hand, she pulled coins out from behind the little boys’ ears, and while they were squealing something incomprehensibly delighted over the small change, she turned them around by the shoulders to push them back out the door. “Go buy yourselves treats now, will ya? Mrs. Landlady downstairs has a gumball machine outside her door. Go on, shoo, shoo – on the double.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, but they hugged her awkwardly again before racing off back into the dark, leaving Shego to the unhappy herculean brother looming before her.

Before either of the eldest two siblings could exchange more than frowns, they were interrupted yet again, this time by the purple one sidling in between them to give his two cents before the giant could open his mouth. “Yo!” piped the flamboyant ropy boy, leaning as heavily as he could against his broad brother. “We got the voicemail that you were—”

“Boy wonder filled me in earlier,” Shego interrupted curtly, jutting her chin up at her big brother, though Drakken noticed her glare was curiously set lower. She was avoiding looking directly at her siblings, he realized. “I didn’t get any damn sleep last night ‘cause of you jerks,” she griped. “Just can’t understand I want nothing to do with you, can you?”

_“Hey,”_ whined the lavender boy in purple harlequin, Mego, with his hand pressed to his chest as if deeply wounded by her words. “It’s hard not to worry when you run off like that with some weirdo, and that means something coming from me. Where is he now anyway?” He shoved away from the stoic giant to lean in to peer past Shego, but she shoved him back into the man still standing mute outside under the porch light.

“How the hell should I know?” Shego snapped. “He was heading to Mexico, so I had him drop me off here.” Whether it was quick thinking or a planned cover – he’d have to ask her later – it was courteous of her to give them a false lead like that. It gave Drakken some reassurance she was on his team after all.

“Your sugar daddy dumped you already, huh?” snorted the contemptuous purple kid, and the warmth in Drakken’s blood froze over.

“Don’t make me hit you,” Shego groaned. The threat was halfhearted, a flameless fist raised in warning, though it still glittered weakly with green embers.

Taking offense himself, Drakken wished he had a front-row seat to such a showdown. _“I’m not that old,” _he mouthed indignantly to himself, though it wasn’t too far from the truth. Sure he treated his accomplice a fair bit better than his henchman – but she held a power that demanded respect and he had to stay in her good favor. Although he _was_ growing rather fond of her company in particular. To say he wasn’t compelled to treat her well for the sake of keeping it would be a lie. It would be a bigger lie to say he didn’t selfishly want more than his fair share. But a _sugar daddy_ he was not. He was still in his twenties and he didn’t have white hair, for goodness sake. Well, maybe a couple of grays, but he plucked those so they didn’t count. Anyway, he wasn’t _paying_ her to be his friend. Or was he?

Mind reeling, Drakken almost didn’t catch the big blue bloke speak up before Shego and her twiggy brother could get into a scrap. “We just wanted to be sure you’re alright,” he said quietly, devoid of enthusiasm as he stepped forward. “You’ve had us all worried sick.” Somehow, the simple concern was enough to make Shego wince. Drakken wondered if the Hego fellow had a secret superpower other than superstrength. Something telepathic maybe?

“Not my problem,” Shego scoffed bitterly, trying to push them away from the door. “I’m doing fine. I don’t need a welfare check. I have to get ready for work now, so _out._ You’ll have to catch me later.”

The scrawny brother blinked. “You have a job?”

Shego ground out a sound of agitation but otherwise didn’t answer him. She slammed the door before they could push their way back in, quickly latching the chain and twisting the deadbolt with an audible click.

With Team Go out of sight, Drakken already felt himself beginning to relax. He hadn’t even realized how tense he’d been. But he couldn’t come out yet, not with her family just outside and her guest still in the room.

Standing on tiptoe to watch through the peephole, Shego ignored the dirtbag in boxer shorts ambling around behind her searching for his belongings and dressing as he questioned her on the _clown freaks_ and the whereabouts of his pet. When the irritated young man tried grabbing her roughly by the shoulder to turn her around, he was abruptly shoved out the door into the early morning with such force he nearly toppled over the railing. His tattered backpack and dog leash were tossed out after him. The traitor swore and pounded on the door, but it was already locked once again.

After checking the kitchen window overlooking the breezeway was perfectly covered by the blinds, Shego returned to the closet. She pushed hangers aside to grab Drakken by the sleeve, yanking him out of hiding and out of her way. “Wait until everyone’s gone before you leave. And lock the door behind you,” she instructed quietly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Drakken whispered back. Truth be told, he wasn’t eager to go anywhere, hovering close at her side as she shifted through her belongings. He wasn’t convinced it was safe to be out of hiding just yet, even within her apartment – not with a bunch of superheroes outside.

Drakken was sure he caught a note of anxiety in her soft chuckle then, and he tore his eyes from the front door and back to her, fixing a frown on her. She patted his arm and quipped, “You can go back to hiding in the closet if you want. I won’t judge.”

“Yes, you would,” he scoffed.

“Daredevil, huh?” she mocked, and her smirk fell as she cast a suspicious glance to the door as well. “Whatever. Just – keep the lights off, or they might see you.”

He grunted in agreement but hovered by the coat closet as his accomplice made her rounds, closing windows and double-checking blinds and the locks on her door. She blew out a candle she’d missed, making certain the apartment was appropriately dark for this hour of the morning. She must have been as uneasy as him, having her family waiting for her outside. She had to face them eventually and risk them toting her off, but she was at considerably less risk than himself. If he left the apartment now, they’d be on him like flies on—

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she declared quietly in passing. “You behave yourself.”

“Certainly,” he mumbled.

No sooner had the bathroom door shut and the water cranked on full blast was Drakken was all but glued to the front door. While Shego – _Shilo_ – got a start on the day, he anxiously stationed himself there as if on guard duty.

From the peephole, he could see the brand new hoverjet parked diagonally on the dinky lawn below. There was a notable lack of _green_ included in the streaks and bolts of color decorating the craft. Team Go must have officially excluded her from the team, Drakken surmised.

The siblings of his accomplice gave the intimidated dog boy a hard time. What’s-his-name eventually brushed the heroes off and went to search for his dog, but not before accepting the monetary reward the big blue fellow grudgingly counted out for him.

Some _friend_ that dog boy must be, to turn Shego in for a bit of cash in his pocket. Although Drakken couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same if he were in dog boy’s duct-taped shoes, down on his luck with nothing but a sack and the clothes on his back. It was still shallow. He still detested the punk.

Drakken wondered how his accomplice had ever gotten caught up with the likes of dog boy. Maybe she still had a hero’s heart and took pity on the less fortunate. Such would be a quality his mother might like – but how much good would that do _him? _She was probably just using the lowlife to get her fix. Drakken had his connections – he could get Shego her fix if she’d just ask. It wasn’t a priority, but he’d have to broach the subject sometime.

Day broke while Shego took a lengthy shower, but her family waited patiently outside. Well, almost patiently. The two hyper little ones clambered around on the wings of the jet. A handful of times, it seemed the lavender one had to talk the blue one out of stomping back up to the apartment. Some middle-aged man appeared to have a word with the herculean leader of the team, who pointed up toward the apartment in an accusatory manner. The average Joe pulled the children down from the jet and lead them off then, leaving the two older brothers behind.

It wasn’t much longer before a hand landing on Drakken’s shoulder gave him a start.

He jumped and gave the unhappy runaway a once-over. He hadn’t even noticed the shower shut off, let alone heard her blow dry her hair. Plain denim and white blouse, she was dressed and ready to go, although she didn’t look particularly psyched out. Drakken wondered if it had less to do with drudging through another day as a barista and more to do with the unwelcomed patrons she’d surely be serving soon.

Shilo yawned, and almost rubbed her eyes but stopped herself before she could smudge her mascara.

Maybe she was just tired.

She cursed miserably under her breath and nudged Drakken aside so she could take a peek through the peephole herself. Then she rocked on her heels and leaned back against the door, sighing wretchedly. “I don’t wanna go out there,” she grumbled. “I _really_ don’t wanna go out there.” She leaned a bit to look past him, Drakken following her stare to the digital clock on her dresser reading a quarter past six.

“You could call in sick,” he suggested. “Maybe they’ll get tired of waiting and leave.”

“Unlikely. It’s a stakeout.”

Drakken grunted his displeasure, knowing she was right, and turned his frown back to her as she grabbed something from the coat rack by the door. As his accomplice pulled on the black sweater and tugged her hair free, smoothing the collar of her blouse over the crewneck, he raised his brow and swallowed futilely against something bubbling up. He tore his eyes from the bat brooch pinned to the borrowed sweater before he could be caught staring.

Miss Gough shouldered her purse and tucked a second-hand skateboard under an arm before nudging Drakken again to move him away from the door. She peeked out once more, sighed wearily, and gave him one last look. “Wish me luck,” she said meekly.

“Only if you wish me luck first,” grumbled Drakken in halfhearted retort. Goodness knew he’d need it with her family out there. He didn’t anticipate her catching his hand, and resisted the reflex to jerk it away as she lifted it, giving his knuckles a blow for luck as if he held dice. The gesture was simultaneously sweet and torturous. He swallowed against the something bubbling up in his chest again and he tried to smile, whispering, “Good luck,” to his accomplice as she slipped out the door.

Through the peephole, he watched her trot away, subjecting herself to the heroes that converged on her. She hopped on her probably-stolen skateboard and kicked off to stay ahead of them, clearly trying to ignore the two young men hurrying after her like her shadow. It was hard to tell, but he was sure she almost glanced back at the apartment.

There were still the two youngest team members to worry about of course, and whoever had taken them. Still, Drakken gave it a good minute, waiting until the senior members of the superhero team were well out of sight before making his escape. He may have narrowly avoided being caught, but he was far from at ease.

He barely made it to the car before spotting the two little kids skipping down the sidewalk, jumping over cracks. One boy paused when he noticed Drakken ducking into the wagon, and he shoved the other, who in turn tugged on the coat of the mustachioed man trudging along beside them. But the man was too busy glaring up at the apartment to see Drakken pulling away.

The stranger must be their father, he realized, risking a glance back as he idled at the stop sign at the corner. The man with the twins was an ordinary fellow of average build and a bit of a beer gut. It was hard to believe he might be the parent of five colorful superhumans when he was so drab himself.

Drakken was out of there before the dismal father could be convinced to look back at _the weird blue guy_ he was sure the children were pestering him about.

If only facing the father of the young lady he’d spirited away was the worst of it. Assuming he had no superpowers, he could probably take that guy in old-fashioned fisticuffs if a fight broke out. It was the big one Drakken worried about. That was the one that could knock his lights out for good and with ease.

And yet, despite that worry, he resisted the urge to floor it back to the lair for a change of wheels. He was riding on impulse. The odds her family had shown up in full force for nothing more than a little reunion seemed unlikely – and right now, she was alone with the worst of them.

What if they convinced her to go back? Was she homesick at all? Would they use that against her? How low were a group of heroes willing to stoop? She was alone and outnumbered, and they had a jet and could be halfway back to Go City by the time he made it back to her.

Maybe he _did_ floor it back to the lair, and maybe he wished the damn stolen station wagon could go faster.

There had to be something to Shego’s lucky gesture because it had to be luck that Lux was there to get the gate. Drakken ordered the surrender of his keys, commandeering the senior henchman’s red Beetle, and was peeling out moments later. The punch buggy was unimpressive but perfect for the job. It was unfamiliar to Shego’s traitorous playmate and far less conspicuous than the stereotypical white van of a kidnapper – not that kidnapping was on the agenda. That the Beetle’s windows were tinted was a bonus.

Back across town lickety-split, Drakken made it in time to spot the trio from a block away as they arrived at Buckley’s Brew. He parked not far up the street while their backs were to him.

It was a relief to see the big blue gorilla hadn’t simply thrown the former hero over his shoulder yet to tote her off, but Drakken watched with a glower as Shilo Gough argued with her family just outside the shop. She didn’t have the skateboard anymore, he noticed. If he had to guess, one of the young men had gotten rid of it for her, perhaps to slow her down so they could talk. If talking was what they wanted, talking was what they got, because she was giving them an earful, though they didn’t seem terribly put off by it.

Shilo was in the middle of giving them a piece of her mind and jabbing a finger at the gorilla’s chest when Joanne Buckley herself stepped out of the shop. Built like a tank, the baker rivaled Team Go’s leader in size. The two active heroes were in uniform. There was no way Buckley didn’t recognize them as she butted in between the boys and her tiny superpowered employee, ready to go toe to toe with the herculean hero.

Drakken sank down behind the wheel, chuckling under his breath as he anticipated a brawl to break out. He wished he had popcorn on hand.

He was only a little disappointed things remained civil.

With Buckley barring the door like a bouncer, Shego ducked inside, escaping the verbal dispute before it could escalate to physical. The strapping young man and spindly boy exchanged looks, and it would seem they had little choice but to surrender and let their sister go. The burly baker glared at their backs as they retreated. If looks could kill, the young heroes would have been lying face-down on the sidewalk.

Disappointment aside, Drakken relaxed and let his grip on the wheel loosen, though he was still wary as they came trudging his way. He was pleasantly reminded how convenient tinted windows were as he watched the superheroes, both utterly oblivious that the man responsible for whisking away their dear sister was right under their noses. He smirked smugly to himself, undeniably getting a small thrill out of flirting with danger. Should the purple one recognize him, he was done for.

Through the cracked window on the passenger side, he just barely overheard the lavender teen utter, “I don’t like it either, man, but maybe we should leave her alone? She’s doing better than any of us thought.”

“This can’t last though,” said the giant sulking brother in exasperation. “She needs to come home.”

_Fat chance, _Drakken thought to himself, his brow knitting as he watched them from the corner of his eye. He’d like to avoid a confrontation if possible and she’d made it clear she didn’t want her family hurt, but he might just break his promise and fight to keep her if she needed the backup.

“And I’m sure she will,” the small one consoled, slapping the blue gorilla on the back as they passed perilously close to the Beetle. _“Eventually._ Once she sees things can be worse, she’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” said the apathetic giant in defeat, and Drakken couldn’t make out the rest of their conversation.


	22. Welfare Check – 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*quietly raises from the dead, posts this, crawls back into my coffin*_

Maybe he should have followed Team Go’s example and left. It was in his best interest to honor his accomplice’s wishes after all, and maybe that was Drakken’s first impulse when he reached for the key in the ignition. So why he didn’t listen to the voice of reason was anyone’s guess.

He was really pushing his luck by being perhaps the first customer of the day to set foot in Buckley’s Brew. As the door swung shut behind him, he began to question the severity of his recent gambling habit.

A stocky henchwoman-to-be in a witch costume was hissing something unfriendly to Shilo, who looked close to socking the fellow barista for whatever snide things that fell out of her mouth. The witchy blonde’s eyes cut to Drakken, and she curled her lip and turned away to tend to an espresso machine or some such. Through the window to the kitchen, Drakken could see Buckley at work preparing more confections, blessedly indifferent to his entry. Shilo, however, was not.

Her glare seared through him as she planted her palms on the countertop.

The little shop was decorated for the holiday with paper garlands of bats and ghosts and tiny pumpkins at the center of each table. On the counter stood a figurine of an ugly little green witch hunched over a little cauldron of Halloween candy. Drakken helped himself to a chocolate drop, popping it in his mouth as he feigned interest in the chalkboard of specialty coffee, seasonal delights, and made-to-order dishes. He refused to search for strudels in the display case.

His accomplice did not offer a greeting. If this was how she treated the average customer, he wouldn’t feel too bad if she was soon sacked, but he knew he was just a special case.

Her scowl didn’t relent even when her fellow barista swept by behind her, depositing a witch hat adorned with long sickle feathers atop her head. Somehow Drakken doubted mentioning her hair had the same uncanny iridescent sheen as rooster’s back end would come off as a compliment, so he kept the thought to himself.

The jingle of the bell behind him urged him to hurry up, and Shilo grinding out, “What do you want?” helped him decide.

“Waffles and a mocha, please,” Drakken answered politely. He’d never gotten a chance to have his breakfast earlier as he’d forgotten it to get cold in the wagon. She didn’t budge when he pulled out his wallet and held out a note. He raised his brow at her, wondering quietly, “Am I banned?” He should hope not.

“No, but you aren’t welcomed,” she grumbled. She snatched the cash from him. “It’s your head.” She nodded curtly toward the table in the furthest corner where they’d sat the day he’d introduced her to Buckley a month ago. It was a good spot, Drakken decided. Just out of sight of the window to the back, therefore out of sight of the owner.

He’d hoped it would be his accomplice to serve him, but he didn’t complain out loud when it was the blonde witch. At least he had something hot to eat and something sweet to sip. He watched the storefront for good measure, ready to jump up and hide in the restroom should Team Go reappear with reinforcements.

Another customer came and went, ordering joe to go and a devil’s food muffin that made Drakken seethe, but he kept his mouth shut and ate his breakfast.

A sudden grip on his shoulder startled him, but he whipped his head around to see raven hair and jaded eyes and he breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Buckley. “What did I tell you?” Shilo scolded under her breath. “You’re going to get yourself caught.”

“Oh, you know me,” Drakken tried to chuckle as he sat back to peer innocently up at her. “I’m not very good at following rules.”

“Well,  _ work on it.” _

He winced back from the bite in her voice and the weight of her glare. Villains broke rules – didn’t she know that? He eyed her, and the hand still gripping his shoulder in particular, and decided that maybe  _ her _ rules were best not broken if he could help it. “I just want to make sure you’re—,” he began, but she cut him off with a snort.

“I can handle myself,” she reminded, and let go of his shoulder with a small shove.  _ “You _ need to stay out of my way. Worry about yourself, will ya? Honestly – you’ve got a lot of nerve to get on my case and then do something this stupid. I thought you were supposed to be a genius?”

Drakken shrank a little more. “I know you’re capable,” he muttered, poking at his half-eaten breakfast. He grunted crossly and stabbed at a side of sausage. “What do they want with you anyway?” That was a dumb question to ask. Maybe he wasn’t such a genius after all.

“They’re not taking me back,” grumbled his partner in crime, crossing her arms.

“Not without a fight,” he agreed, and her frown lightened just a little while.

She glanced toward the door before plopping herself down in the seat across from him, yanking off the ridiculous feathered witch hat and slumping over the table with her face buried in her arms. He almost called her name after a minute, but she heaved a weary sigh and pulled her head up a little to glower over to the other barista before glaring back up at him. “I blame you.”

Drakken scoffed. “For?”

Her jaded eyes narrowed on him, and she shook her head, refusing to explain with more than a simple,  _ “Everything.” _ She reached across to steal a sip of his mocha then, and he kept his complaint trapped behind zipped lips. She could probably use the caffeine more than him – but for heaven’s sake – she could go get her own.

“They  _ do _ want me to come back,” she confirmed. “But if they were going to force me to go, they wouldn’t be wasting time seeing how I’m doing. I must be up to snuff so far. They haven’t drugged or cuffed me yet. Anyway.” She took another sip and surrendered his mug. “If they planned on taking me, they wouldn’t have brought Dad. All the seats are taken. I guess this was my last chance to change my mind before  _ big brother _ wraps it up on damage control and sweeps me under the rug to pretend I was never their mistake.”

“What?” Drakken uttered around a mouthful, tilting his head. There was something sad in her eyes, and he pulled his stare away to frown at the smudge of black lipstick on his mug. He turned it away from him to sip from a clean edge.

“Big brother doesn’t want a bad apple like me spoiling their reputation,” she explained. “Big brother…you know. Glo—I’m not gonna say it.” She shook her head and sighed grimly. “They’ll probably keep an eye on me through my brothers for a bit, but if I can fool them too that I’m just… _ this. _ Some ordinary girl in a small town. Then they might let their guard down and take their eyes off me. We might be okay.”

_ We. _ He liked the sound of that more than he ought to. “You sound optimistic,” Drakken noted.

“They have bigger fish to fry than lil ol’ me,” she assured.

“That’s a relief.” He watched the swirling remains of his mocha before knocking it back.

“They’ll never know what hit them,” she agreed with a smile. A genuine smile, one that met her eyes and lifted some of the bleak exhaustion there, if only for a moment. She stood then, making a motion for him to pass her the mug. As she was offering to fetch him a refill, he shook his head and stood as well.

“I think I’ve pushed my luck enough for one morning,” he sighed and looked out toward the storefront. There were still no superheroes in sight, but he wasn’t so gullible as to believe they had given up so easily. They’d be back. It was only a matter of time. “When does your family leave?”

“Dunno,” she admitted. “I guess the twins wanted me to take them trick-or-treating tonight, so they’re bound to turn up eventually to make me spend  _ quality time _ with the family.” She shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Try the north end of town,” advised Drakken offhandedly. “It’s the rich neighborhood.” He didn’t know why he bothered sparing that information. Let the little brats get paperclips and tasteless candy – what did he care?

A new early-bird customer was just coming in then. Shilo’s idle time was up. Drakken sidestepped out of her way as his accomplice donned her witch hat and cleared the table.

“Thanks for the tip,” she chirped flippantly, and as Drakken turned back to utter something confused in reflex, she smirked and pushed his wallet into his chest while pocketing a bill from it. “See ya around, hon.”

The last bit didn’t sit well with him, but Drakken let it slide before it could trip him up. She was smiling and bubbly and sweet now despite her exhaustion and bottled bitterness. It wasn’t a show of endearment – it was all just a show she put on for customers, right down to the smile she flashed him as he took his leave.

Drakken grit his teeth and forced himself to return to the lair, despite how compelled he was to keep a watchful eye out for the superheroes, anxious his irreplaceable accomplice might be taken away at any moment, against her will or otherwise.

He tried to bear in mind there was certain protocol he ought to be following anyway. He had more important things to do than loiter around town, trying to stalk agents of Global Justice decked out in outlandish harlequin suits – things like barking orders at the henchmen to put the lair under lockdown starting with the garage, and ordering the whole lot of them into the depths of the subterranean hideaway and out of sight from probing spies, and to be on guard for a raid just in case. If Global Justice by any chance had followed Team Go to the oasis, there was the risk he’d caught their eye. Peculiar complexions like his had a way of acting as a red flag for illicit activities gone awry, after all.

But as Drakken sat down in front of the CCTV system, hands folded under his chin as he vigilantly watched the perimeter in grainy black and white feed, an inkling of doubt trickled in, watering a wry seed as he stewed. After some time, his nerves began to settle, and he sat back, weighing the likelihood of Global Justice considering a blue individual a threat or even a suspicious character on  _ Halloween _ of all days.

He shook his head. He had too much idle time to think.

So he summoned a henchman to the chair to watch the security feed and left to occupy his buzzing mind with something more productive than staring at bulbous screens which only served to make his eyes burn. Let  _ them _ be the watchdogs and watch the monotonous feedback – what else was he paying them for?

Though he was on the verge of scrapping it for parts in his frustration, Drakken returned to the cannon. It didn’t distract him for long, but it kept him busy long enough to finish it. He got as far as pulling on a mask and giving it a quick coat of spraypaint to emulate the warning stripes of a yellowjacket.

The mask didn’t do him a whole lot of good when the ventilation system in the lair left a lot to be desired, and he abandoned the project before the paint could finish dripping.

Dizzy from fumes, Drakken quickly retreated to his personal quarters and tugged off the mask, gasping for a breath of air yet to be polluted by the aerosol, though it still lingered on his clothes. He tossed his coat over the back of the couch to shed some of it, turning his attention to the kitchen next as he staved off the phantom sensation of standing on the roof of the van with a heavy weight on his shoulders—

It was only noon, he noticed. That was fine. Enough time had elapsed and there’d yet to be an alarm tripped. It was safe to relax a little and call it lunchtime, though his stomach was still knotted up with nerves. He made himself a grilled cheese sandwich, reminding himself he lived alone.  _ Mostly _ alone. He only unthinkingly made a second because he was hungry, even if it was cold by the time he forced it down.

Neither were satisfying. No amount of butter or cheese could fix that.

He sat hunched over his kitchen island, frowning into a new cookbook that had yet to offer anything that tickled his fancy. Chocolate was an infallible go-to, but chocolate alone wasn’t festive enough. Devil’s food still left a sour taste in his mouth anyway. Pumpkin pie, maybe? No. While he could bake a mean pumpkin pie, the art passed down to him from his grandmother, it was too mundane. It wasn’t like he had anyone to impress – it was just that he must have made a hundred in his twenty-odd years of baking them.

He flicked on the television and melted into the couch, hopeful the leading cooking channel would inspire him, but it was droning on and on about decorative icing on sugar cookies in the shapes of bats and witches and pumpkins. Bored to sleep, he nodded off until a change of pace signified the start of some competitive whimsical cakes designed like graveyards or brains.

Drakken sat up with a groan at the sight of strawberry glaze drizzled over the brain-cake and flicked off the television. It was just a touch too realistic for his taste. He wasn’t in the mood to see desserts disguised as organs.

Pieces floated together as he watched the stars behind his lids as he rubbed his stinging eyes. A moment later, he dove across the couch to fish his notebook from his jacket to jot down three words most certain to be delectable, just in case something came up and he got complacent. It sounded good in his head. It was certain to be leagues better than any revolting red velvet cerebrum.

He didn’t need the worthless cookbook. The itch to toss it in the garbage didn’t feel too unlike disregarding a map on a road trip, but he couldn’t pry his fingers from the spine to drop it. He knew exactly how to make what he craved though – he didn’t need someone else’s instructions to guide him. Still, he grudgingly returned it to the shelf with half a dozen other useless cookbooks like it. His thoughtful mother had bought it for him anyway. He couldn’t just throw out a gift.

As deliberately as he tried to keep his eyes down, he still caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. It was half-past two.

If they weren’t already, those rotten superheroes were bound to be on her any moment now. The lair was in lockdown – but he needed ingredients if he was going to concoct anything to cure a sweet tooth.

He felt his breath leave him and with it his resolve to stay safely holed up in his hideout.

Drakken shrugged on his coat – it had aired out enough – and stuffed his notebook back in the pocket. He knew exactly what he needed. He didn’t need to make a list.

He still stood before the mainframe in the lab to write it out anyway, giving himself an extra minute to change his mind before lowering the lair’s defenses and ordering the henchman at the surveillance desk to keep a sharp eye out or he’d have his head served on a platter.

Drakken was soon coasting through town yet again in the restored station wagon, as the van was still too eye-catching with its damaged side – not to mention it was suspicious enough to the average civilian on a good day. He was minding his own business anyway – just popping into the Smarty Mart. He didn’t need to be secretive.

How he found himself on the wrong side of town – well. He couldn’t play stupid. He was compulsive. He could hardly help that. It was a villain thing.

Knowing he was playing with fire, Drakken kept his eye out as he cruised down Main Street, spotting his lone accomplice soon enough. Given the direction she was heading, she wasn’t heading  _ home. _ He had to guess she was on her way to the library, her usual respite from the weather, only this time she was likely avoiding the family he happened to know still had a jet parked on the front lawn at her address.

He was bound to be on edge for as long as Team Go was still in town. Paranoia grew by the second as he waited for the dreaded heroes to jump her. She wasn’t far from Buckley’s yet. Her brothers could be lurking anywhere, lying in wait.

She  _ was _ confronted, but it wasn’t by lousy do-gooders.

Drakken recognized the brown dog from a block away, and he pulled to the curb as Shilo was cut off by the traitorous deadbeat with the leash. He narrowed his eyes and drummed his fingers on the wheel, muttering under his breath his hopes for karma to catch the dog boy once and for all, especially once the steaming punk advanced on her. Granted, the temper might have been justified if Shilo had in fact let his dog out to run away, plus she’d nearly pushed him from the second story earlier.

It didn’t change the fact that Dr. Drakken rooted for her at a distance.

Ignoring the urge to intervene against his better judgment, he watched a dispute unfold. It started with some indiscernible shouting and flailing arms, the boy shaking the leash at her. And then Shego –  _ Shilo _ – was shoved. She pushed back with twice the force, the boy stumbling over his own shoelaces, which lead to the dog being hastily tied to a tree as Shego goaded him on. To Drakken’s disappointment, the sucker was lead around the nearest building, out of sight.

He almost envied the canine’s front-row seat. The dog barked furiously, lunging and straining at the stifling leash tethering it to the tree. A minute or so passed, and Drakken almost put the car back on the road to go investigate for himself.

A weight lifted from his chest then and he exhaled his relief as Shilo strolled out unscathed, her hair only slightly out of place. She chucked something into the air – a pair of shoes – and smoothed out her hair as the sneakers swung on the powerline above. She rubbed her knuckles, patted the mutt happily wagging its tail, and continued on her way.

The backstabber limped into sight toward his dog a moment later, his arm hanging limp and possibly dislocated. If he wasn’t too caught up grieving over it, he might have continued shouting at Shilo’s back.

Drakken couldn’t help smirking. “Attagirl,” he muttered, giddily pleased she’d served payback herself. Proud as he was, the mugging reinforced a healthy respect. His own combat skill wasn’t his sharpest asset – she’d proved that to him not long ago in an enlightening lesson he wouldn’t soon forget – and he knew she could easily do just the same to him.

Hell, she could do  _ worse _ to Drakken than dislocate an arm or steal his shoes if she wished. He put a lot on the line, trusting the bad apple as he did. She could rob him blind, turn everything of his for her own profit, bend him to her will for her own gain – well, maybe she was already doing that.

He grimaced and tried not to consider he was being taken for a fool, even as he felt incredibly foolish heading for Smarty Mart with the idle curiosity if she fancied cheesecake. He shook his head. So what if she didn’t? He baked for himself. He wasn’t obligated to share his personal provisions, and he didn’t have to impress her with desserts that put Buckley’s to shame either.

It was a good thing he’d made a list, because he found himself distracted with each new aisle. He tried contemplating a meal plan, but his attention was stolen time and time again by enticing arrangements of candy and decorations. He grit his teeth and tried his damndest to turn a blind eye to the festive merchandise, but his willpower caved eventually, and he was soon perusing holiday goods while staving off the fear of his accomplice alone at the mercy of her brothers.

Before he knew where his feet were taking him, he stood in the costume aisle. This late in the game, pickings were slim. It had to be luck he even found a cape.

He didn’t mean to inspect the silky black garment lined in red, and he especially didn’t mean to drop it in the handbasket – though he justified it knowing someone was bound to come up behind him and pluck it from the rack for themselves if he didn’t. He wondered, as he tossed a pair of overpriced fangs in the basket as well, if he could pull off a satin cape on a regular basis, but he halted the thought in its tracks before he could contemplate how many caped villains had been made a laughingstock. A cape was a ridiculous addition to his wardrobe – he was only wearing it for tonight, and then it was going in the office fireplace.

Thanks to his dillydallying and candy inspection in Smarty Mart, what should have taken him no more than twenty minutes from entry to checkout had taken him an hour or more. Still, he was compelled to blame a heavy overcast for the gloomy evening.

He was out of his mind, Drakken soon concluded as he made a beeline for his accomplice’s neighborhood. He couldn’t convince himself he was only passing through on the way out of town, not when he had to drive so far out of the way to do so. He didn’t even make it to her street before spotting Shego in her gear along with the whole gaggle of harlequin-clad boys.

Gripping the wheel, Drakken fixed his glare dead ahead, away from the superheroes toting bags and buckets like all the other kids swarming the streets. He made for home, back to his lair.

He had sightseeing to do tonight, but first he had to get changed.


	23. Welfare Check – 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello I have no grasp on time, I've been self-isolating since 2009.  
Every day is Halloween.

When her brothers found her halfway to the library, Shilo had little choice but to make a deal with them. It was impossible to just say _ no _ when Hugo used two hopeful little boys with stars in their eyes to his advantage – proving even heroes weren’t above utilizing underhanded and manipulative tactics.

She wanted to spit acid at her big brother, but for the twins’ sake, she settled for coldly warning him that she’d give them tonight, and that was it, and it was only for the twerps because they’d come all this way and were skipping school for this.

Hugo held up his hands as if in peace, assuring her that they wouldn’t interfere after tonight. It was a lie if she ever heard one, but until they were out of town for good, she’d just have to accept whatever he had planned. As long as the _ other _ blue idiot in her life stayed out of the picture, everything would be fine.

Upon returning to the apartment, Shilo was faced with her displeased landlord, the senior citizen waving a cane at the aircraft parked on her lawn. She’d never seen the old woman so crabby before. Apparently, she’d called the police earlier, but the suave superhero Hego had convinced the baffled officers to turn a blind eye, though it didn’t stop a news crew or two from stopping by.

Mrs. Landlady couldn’t be swayed so easily, but for the sake of keeping her lease, Shilo tried to smile and politely explain her visitors would be leaving after trick-or-treating. She elbowed her elder brother, hoping he’d take the hint, but Hego didn’t look particularly ashamed of himself for inconveniencing the senior citizen with his jet scaring her pack of little white poodles.

To make up for it, Mego offered to walk the yapping little dogs to take them elsewhere to relieve themselves. Shilo couldn’t shut him up in time. Mrs. Landlady had been hinting around at dog-walking for extra cash for a while now, but he couldn’t possibly know that. He was just an expert at getting under her skin. Before she could object, Shilo and each of her brothers were handed leashes. And bags.

Bags which Shilo shoved to Milo.

Once the bouncing yapping pack of little dogs were walked and returned to a slightly-less-cross Mrs. Landlady, Pops and all of her brothers shadowed her up the stairs to her crummy apartment. Hugo, still dressed as Hego, was practically breathing down her neck. Cornered, she turned on them at the top to jab Hugo in the chest and snap that none of them were invited into her home.

Because that’s what it was. It was her home. It didn’t feel much like her home, miserable as it was, and she hated the sound of it leaving her mouth, but she was paying the rent on the place. They had no right to barge in uninvited, and she didn’t have to invite them either.

Holding her ground, she was on the verge of flaring up her hands and blasting Hugo back down the steps, if it weren’t for everyone piled up behind him – and to make matters worse, her father ducked around him. He stood a solid few inches taller than her, his mustache hooked downward in a perpetual frown as he crossed his arms and grunted at her to open the door, as if he still had some authority over her. As if he’d _ ever _ had some authority over her.

She put her foot down, crossing her arms in turn as she barred the door, even if Hugo could pick her up and kick it down if he wanted, and get away with it too by claiming it was for justice and the greater good and the usual baloney.

It was just cold enough out to see her breath, yet suddenly she felt too hot bundled up in Drakken’s sweater as she stood there facing off. The thought made her swallow and her resolve almost wavered as nerves snuck up on her. Could they tell it was a man’s sweater? Did they realize it was too clean and neat to have belonged to that destitute miscreant she’d let hang about? As comfortable as it was, suddenly she didn’t want to be caught wearing it, even if it didn’t look much different than the sort she usually wore.

If she let them so much as _ see _ inside, now that it was daylight, would they realize how involved she was with the rogue doctor? No – of course they wouldn’t. That was ridiculous. She had no incriminating evidence inside – except for what hid under her bed, and that had nothing to do with him, though an excess of cash might raise questions. With her father and brothers dogging her, insistent on taking a look around, Shilo racked her brains but all she could think of were the custom gloves the doctor had tailored for her. But she had an old restrictive pair she could use tonight – they didn’t have to know about the weaponized gloves.

She was probably worried for nothing, but nonetheless, Shilo stamped her foot and told her father bluntly, to his face and in front of two kindergarteners, to _ fuck off already. _

He raised a finger to wag at her and drew a deep breath to begin lecturing her, and she could hear it before he uttered, “Listen here, young lady—”

The spiel went in one ear and out the other. She tried not to consider her hands might be shaking ever so slightly as she reached into the purse at her hip and fished out her wallet to brandish her driver’s license in her father’s face as if flashing ID would prove her case. “I’m an _ adult,” _ she reminded hotly, barely managing to squeeze a word in edgewise though she felt childish just saying it. It wasn’t like she was twelve anymore and he was demanding a look around her room to make sure it was tidy. “Get off my ass.”

Her father gawped at her, and she pointedly lit up a cigarette as the one desperate parent she had left made a bumbling attempt to disregard the fact she’d left the nest. It was for her own good, he was only looking out for her – it was the same old baloney Hugo fed her. Taking a drag wasn’t setting a very good example for her littlest brothers, but their father wasn’t setting a good example for them either if proving his parental authority was his intent. Over her, he had none. He really hadn’t had any for a long time – not over her, and not over the twins either. _ Global Justice _ dictated their upbringing – he merely paid child support, more or less. He was just too prideful to admit the role of father had been stripped from him the day the comet hit.

Her pops choked as he waved away the smoke and she slipped inside. “You’re still—,” he started again, and she slammed the door behind her. She was sure _ young and dumb _ was shouted through it as she twisted the deadbolt.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” she hollered through the door, and ripped the oversized sweater over her head to toss on her bed. She changed quickly – in the bathroom, just to be safe – but wasn’t quick enough.

Sometimes she wondered if Milo could phase through walls, but knew it was just his knack for shrinking small enough to squeeze through cracks like a mouse.

However he managed the feat, the lavender dork was in her apartment when she exited the bathroom, giving her a start when she found him sitting on her bed.

Worse yet, Milo was scrutinizing the ornamental green and black water pipe she’d hidden under the bed earlier. The sight of him with the paraphernalia jarred her nerves for a second – but so what? She’d bought it last week from a smoke shop just off Main Street. It was perfectly legal, and unused to boot. Granted, she had bought it with the money she stole from a 24-Seven, and what she planned to eventually use it for wasn’t so legal – but it proved nothing. Without GJ drugging her with a suppressant disguised as sleep-aid, could they really fault her for self-medicating?

“Wait until Dad finds out about this,” snickered Milo, flashing a shit-eating grin her way.

_ “Breyer,” _ she hissed.

At the simple threat to his horsey collectables, Milo went rigid and narrowed his eyes on her as he tucked the apparatus back where he’d found it.

He rose from her bed, only to inspect the makeup on her dresser and try out her hand lotion as he went on. “You know Pops is just trying to look out for you,” he said, barely changing the subject. He sounded just like Hugo for a second. “You didn’t have to go and cop an attitude with him. He’s all salty now and there’s no telling how long _ I _ have to deal with it. So thanks a ton. Hey, can I borrow this?”

Shilo snatched her bottle of black nail polish back from him and tossed it across the small room to her bed, where it bounced off and hit the floor.

She grabbed her brother by the wrist to tow him away before he could get into anything else, but he shrunk out of her grip and she felt the elf-like body perch on her shoulder. Tiny mousey hands were in her hair, venturing too close for comfort to the cut on the side of her head sustained in the automobile accident Friday night. It was still a few days away from being completely healed without a trace.

“How’d you get this?” Milo wondered, his voice an odd pitch now that his vocal cords were shrunk so small.

“I fell,” she fibbed as she exited the apartment. It wasn’t a lie – not really. The van had _ fallen _ over, and she’d fallen with it.

“Still fighting crime?” he guessed.

“It’s a good excuse to roundhouse kick people,” she stated, and that much wasn’t a lie either. It didn’t mean she was still fighting for the sake of _ good. _

Her miniature violet brother bounced off her shoulder to resume normal size and slide down the handrail in the fashion she always used to scold the boys for doing back home. He hopped off elegantly at the end and landed on his toes between the two little boys rushing back to the staircase. The thought that he’d do well in ballet crossed her mind for the thousandth time, and it would be a lie if the familiar thought didn’t warm her chest a little, as discontented as she was to have her family here tonight.

While Shilo had been busy serving hot drinks and treats at Buckley’s Brew, Pops and the twins had done some shopping. Wesley and Willow fought over who would give Shilo her bucket as she reached the bottom step, and there was no getting out of it when she tried to decline.

She’d already accepted defeat when she’d agreed to dress into her gear to misuse as a Halloween costume. Her brothers were dressed in their own, as they’d been all day – and with her brought into the fold, the _ Team Go _ set was finally complete. Shilo’s shoulders slumped as her big brother grinned warmly and commented on how _ great _ it was to have her with them tonight, even if she refused to don the domino mask. Pointedly trying to keep her among them, he dropped a hefty arm around her shoulders to trap her in their midst.

She shoved away from Hego, only to bump into Mego, and she was beginning to feel suffocated as the Wego twins took her by the hands. Mock Team Go costumes were a regular sight in Go City, but here in the Nevada oasis, they had to be uncommon if not unheard of – even so, there were too many Team Go uniforms out tonight.

Shilo felt like gasping for air as she stood straight, reminding herself that this was her life – this was her _ family _ , she’d _ grown up _ with this, she was _ used to this, _ and _ nothing _ about tonight was unusual.

Except for the fact they were thousands of miles from their hometown, and she wasn’t guiding her brothers around the familiar neighborhood they lived in. She’d never been trick-or-treating anywhere else but Go City. Then there was the fact the older two of her brothers had quit trick-or-treating some years ago, thus their presence was unusual. She was used to being talked into family costumes, but wearing her uniform instead of a real costume was added weirdness that made her feel peculiarly exposed in a suit she was accustomed to wearing as an everyday outfit.

The twins were eager to knock on doors and ring doorbells, and Shilo seemed to be the only one to remember to tell them absolutely _ no _ duplication to score extra candy. It didn’t feel right coming out of her mouth now, reminding the little copycats that doing so would be cheating and unfair to all the other kids.

It took seven houses and a sorry handful of chalky candies with one piece of taffy to split between the twins before Shilo paused to consider the rogue doctor’s earlier suggestion. She didn’t yet know the town like the back of her hand, but she was familiar enough by now to know it wasn’t a false lead. She’d scoped out the north end a while ago, and even a solid two weeks before Halloween there had been a wealth of holiday decorations. She knew the houses there sported new paint and manicured lawns. There was no hiding it that the community out that way was of a higher class than the majority of the oasis town.

So Shilo grabbed the boys by the hands and quietly asked them if they were up for a bit of a walk if it meant scoring better candy. Of course they were. They were bundles of energy that didn’t need the sugar – but they wouldn’t be _ her _ problem at the end of the night. Hugo and Milo were chatting lowly with one another, oblivious to her whispering to the twins, “Ready? Set…”

_ “Go!” _ squealed the Wegos, getting a split-second head start on her.

The older boys didn’t seem to even _ notice _ Shilo jogging off with two gleeful little ones racing alongside her to keep up.

As she ran with them, she didn’t expect the swell of excitement warming her chest to hit her so fast. Her youngest brothers weren’t so bad. Their hands were sticky, but her impulse to recoil and wipe her palms on her pants wasn’t so strong as to call their company repulsive. She couldn’t say the same about Hugo and Milo. She’d rather the nose-picking twerps any day. It helped she wore gloves though.

She stayed a fair distance ahead of the older two boys, who eventually noticed and shouted after her. By Main Street, she’d lost them. She stared over her shoulder almost as much as she watched for cracks in the sidewalk, which the twins were adamant she not step on. She wanted to step on every one of them. She’d have to make up for lost time once they were out of her hair.

_ “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” _ she mouthed to herself, grinding her heel into one as the boys darted up to a bowl of candy offered by Buckley herself standing outside her café.

Two raggedy dolls, Hansel and Gretel hand-stitched from old fabrics, sat in the caldron by the painted café door, guarded by Buckley the gingerbread witch. It was probably a risky thing to allow, given the henchwoman’s dislike for heroes, _ superheroes _ in particular, but the giant witch in colorful apron stooped down to their level and spared an extra home-made chocolate truffle for each. Just like Hansel and Gretel, the children greedily wolfed them down on the spot, and Buckley smiled just as warmly as she did for the average customer.

“What cuties! Shilo, I could just gobble ‘em up,” she rumbled, peeking up past her curly bangs. Her smile fell just slightly with the wane of the false cheer. “Borrowed?”

Shilo shrugged meekly. Suddenly she wanted to usher the twins away, but Buckley was forking over more chocolate for their greedy little fingers.

Buckley hummed contentedly at the little boys going nuts for her homemade candies. “You know, there are special institutions for the little ones. If you ever find yourself with any,” she noted as she stood. “Start ‘em young is the motto. But that’s not much better than what that big brother of yours is doing to them, is it? A shame. The little ones are so impressionable.”

She was unsure if the former henchwoman was advocating sending small children away to boot camp, but she had a point. Grooming them to be heroes willing to commit self-sacrifice couldn’t have been much better than training little boys to be henchmen.

“Hm. Well. I’ll look into it when I have kids,” she dismissed, pulling her brothers back away from the witchy baker before they could reach for yet more chocolate. “See you tomorrow, Buck. Say _ thank you, _ boys.”

“Thank you!” they chimed on cue.

As she tugged her baby brothers along with her down Main Street, she had to blink and shake her head incredulously. A _ school _ for hench _ kids? _ How many henchmen even were there in the world? She knew they were people too, but to think they were out there reproducing – actually, she didn’t want to think about that. It squicked her out.

“You’re gonna be a _ mom?” _ wondered Willow suddenly, and suddenly Shilo realized what she’d said moments ago.

_ “Duh! _That’s what girls do,” answered Wesley as if it were obvious.

Shilo squeezed their hands. “Not _ always,” _ she corrected stiffly, though the hairs on the back of her neck were prickling at the very idea now. “So don’t get your hopes up about not being the youngest in the family anymore. You’ll always be the littlest twerps.”

They whined in reply. She laughed it off, and inwardly hoped that the next storefront offering candy would distract them from any questions about the birds and the bees. It did. She breathed a sigh of relief.

All the sugar was beginning to get to them, she was sure of it. The Wegos clad in red and black pajamas were starting to run ahead of her, and run behind her, and dash across the street despite her hollering at them to use a crosswalk or at least look both ways first. She barely kept the two little superkids in sight at all times to ensure they didn’t multiply and blow their cover.

How they ever made it to the north end of town was a wonder. They had a nice collection of candy filling the bottoms of their pumpkin buckets, which they deposited in hers for safekeeping by the time they reached the well-to-do neighborhoods.

Given the cloud cover granting an early nightfall, it was good and dark by now – perfect viewing conditions for the abundance of elaborate lights and yard ornaments. Fake cobwebs on hedges and porches, giant spiders, entire yards of styrofoam headstones, detailed skeletons, the occasional fog machine – the whole nine yards. She’d seen better in Go City, but it was impressive nonetheless.

High on a sugar rush, the twins darted across lawns and up walkways, ringing doorbells with fancy chimes, one or two even rigged in the spirit of the season with ghoulish cackling when rang. At one such abode, festooned in glimmering purple and gold lights, she hovered behind the twins as they bounced eagerly on their toes for the blurry figure behind the glass of the front door to answer.

Shilo had to stifle an abrupt bark of laughter as a young man in a long white _ dress _ opened up. Accessorized with fluffy white angel wings and a golden sash to match his halo, it had to be the _ least _ masculine costume she’d seen on a man yet tonight that wasn’t blatantly meant to be comically feminine. She supposed there were male angels too, though.

The Wego twins sang the age-old trick-or-treat rhyme for the hundredth time tonight before she could chide them that it was impolite, but it earned them a nice chocolate bar each anyway as Shilo composed herself behind her hand and looked back to the angel boy.

She really shouldn’t have taken that second look.

She found herself staring slack-jawed. Not at the angel, but rather – well, maybe at him a little bit, but he was a little pleasing to look at with blond hair and picture-perfect bright blue eyes – but rather, the glass shelves she spied behind him. She shifted to the side just slightly, her stare darting from aquamarine eyes to the breathtaking assortment of glimmering geodes and chunks of crystal in every color and – and aqua eyes were staring her down again.

His mouth was moving.

Shilo didn’t hear a single word he said.

She blinked away from a perfect heavenly smile as something was extended to her – his hand, right, right – but still stared stupidly at the candy bar he offered in his palm for a second before reaching for it.

She didn’t even know what came out of her own mouth. Something along the lines of, “I, uh – h-hey – uhm,” maybe. She was effectively tongue-tied. Between dazzling aqua eyes looking straight into her and a staggering wall of glitzy precious minerals just behind him, whatever was responsible for sorting out words had shorted out.

Since when did she _ sweat _ so much? She never sweated this much around Drakken. Okay, maybe a little, but she usually kept her cool well enough and – and it was a damn good thing she was wearing her restrictive gloves because she felt her hands burning up inside them. Drakken made her hands sparkle on a good day but – why the hell was her geeky blue boss her first comparison anyway?

Her little brothers were leaving the steps without her.

Shilo shook and snapped out if it, blurting a brusque, “Thank you!” as she tossed the candy bar in her bucket and spun on her heel to tear her stare away from too many pretty dazzling objects of interest in that big white house.

Mistakenly casting a glance back, she nearly ran into a hedge lining the walkway. The boy waved, calling, “God bless!” with a melodious voice like an angel she wanted to damn.

What a prick.

Her face was still warm and there was no reason she should feel so weak in the knees as if she’d just chased a villain across Go City, but she heaved a deep calming breath as she trudged after two tireless little boys with boundless energy.

Shilo threw another peek back over her shoulder to the house – and while the house and everything in it were as attractive as ever, something far less so caught her eye.

A mustachioed man in a deerstalker cap had his head lowered, puffing at a pipe and sauntering along leisurely in a long brown overcoat. She narrowed her eyes at the Sherlock.

Who did her pops think he was fooling?

Just as she considered trying to shake him, she was taken by surprise, ambushed by two superheroes in purple and blue. She’d foolishly been glowering back at her father when they leapt out at her, catching her by the shoulders and leading her after the twins and up the nearest pathway to collect candy as the full set.

When asked what they were supposed to be, all but Shilo proudly answered, _ “Team Go!” _

She curled her lip and rolled her eyes, glad to have the distraction nonetheless to take her mind off stupid angels and pretty rocks. She was towed along for several houses, filling up her own bucket the rest of the way, but she grit her teeth and tolerated it because that was the agreement. They never said she had to like it.

Once her bucket was heavy and full to the brim – a blessing in disguise, as the twins had been depositing candy in her bucket to make room for more in theirs – she was given some slack. She hung back a little to skip receiving candy, distancing herself ever more at each door, until finally, she didn’t even bother entering the yards with them anymore.

She fell further and further back, until they were half a block away across the street and much too caught up and hyped up on candy to notice she wasn’t beside them anymore. She wanted to think the fact alone that they didn’t notice her absence was a good sign they were getting used to her being…well, _ absent _ from their lives now.

The night seemed a few degrees colder suddenly.

Just as Shilo was casting a wary glance back toward her father to check how far away the stalking Sherlock was, a startling hiss in her ear made her whip around the other way, and she jumped away from a flash of red and black and – blue?

She reeled as the man lurched toward her, cackling lowly, “I’ve come to drink your blood!” He couldn’t keep a straight face, but she could tell he tried.

Shilo shoved him back around the corner he’d jumped out from, and threw a glance back toward her father for good measure before joining the rogue doctor out of sight around the privacy fence.

“Ugh. It’s _ ‘I vant to suck your blood,’” _she corrected theatrically, accent laid on thick. Growing up with toddlers, she’d had more practice with funny voices than she wanted to admit, and her face burned when she realized it slipped.

“Ohh, _ chills!” _ shivered the vampire. A cheap cape hung around his shoulders, but the scarlet vest with silver accents he wore didn’t look like it came off Smarty Mart shelves, nor did the silken dress shirt or neatly-tucked necktie. She could be wrong, though. His oxfords were as shiny and slick as the hair he still wore pulled back in a ponytail. He even sported a pair of fangs which he flashed with his mischievous grin. All he was missing was a dribble of fake blood.

Shilo realized, to her dismay, her hands were clammy and beginning to burn. Fortunately she wore the smothering gloves tonight. She clenched her hands into fists and struck the offending blue idiot in the chest with a hard rap of her knuckles. “Drew—”

Evidentially, she hadn’t hit him hard enough to wipe the smile off his face. “Ah-ah,” he said, wagging a finger. “It’s_ Drak _-ula tonight, my dear.” Maybe she needed to hit him again.

He seemed just a little too ballsy tonight, and no wonder. She swore she smelled whiskey on his breath. Drinking and catching her out and about with her family had to be more reckless than anything they’d done Friday. He was a far cry from _ genius _ right now.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed as he peered past her, toward her brothers skipping ever further away to trick-or-treat the last house at the far end of the block, still blessedly oblivious to her _ not _ beside them. She should just walk away now, for his sake. Yet she couldn’t move.

Drakken hummed pleasantly and held up a jack-o-lantern bucket like her own. “What’s it look like?” he shot, plucking a peanut butter cup from the top and offering it to her. “I’m trick-or-treating.”

She had enough candy. She really didn’t need to snatch it from his fingers or tear into the treat to take a bite. “Did you _ steal _ that?” she grumbled around the peanut butter and nodded to his bucket of goodies.

“Will you be upset with me if I say yes?” wondered Drakken – Drakula – _ whatever, _ as he fumbled to peel away the wrapper of a tiny candy bar he popped whole in his mouth.

_ “Yes.” _ She had half a mind to stomp on his foot, but she settled for putting a little pressure on a toe.

Drakken shifted away, but he had nowhere to go. He was backed into the fence. “Well, what do you expect from me?” he snapped back at her, a little too loudly, a little too impatiently, a little too _ close to her face. _ Shilo took a step back and off his toe, and before she could get her thoughts in order, he harrumphed and rolled his eyes. “I bought it,” he grumped. _ “And _the cape. About an hour ago. Do you need to see the receipt?”

Shilo crossed her arms, habitually tucking her warm hands safely into her armpits, and shook her head. Warm hands disregarded a second later, she was picking at his cape before she could think better of it, grudgingly looking him over again. She was standing too close again. She was feeling a little too warm again, and this time it was a dark pair of lonely sapphire eyes staring down into her. “You look nice,” she mumbled before she could run it past herself first. Better than some dumb angel.

No, no he wasn’t – the angel was better. The angel was blond. Younger, too.

_ “Nice?” _ scoffed the blue doctor impersonating a vampire. “Not evil or devilishly handsome? Come on, give me something here. I put work into this outfit.” Well, he didn’t have to _ beg _ for it.

Shilo was stepping back again, her heart jumping up into her throat, and she was indisputably warm from head to toe. She had to clasp her hands behind her back before he could catch a glimpse of green embers escaping the smothering gloves, but his attention thankfully didn’t stray that low. One of her nervous hands found its way up to her hair despite her uneasy attempt to hide them, and she twirled a lock around a finger as she nervously sputtered, “No, I wouldn’t say – _ no.” _ She snorted and shook her head, face burning. She was not one for words tonight.

Drakken hummed thoughtfully. At least he seemed to get the gist of what she was trying to say, though she didn’t need his arm behind her back, gently guiding her down the new dark street and away from her family. “Really?” he chirped. “That’s a shame. And what are you tonight? A superhero?”

She stopped in her tracks. Drakken swung around and paused before her, facing her glare head-on. She didn’t like that question, and she didn’t have to explain to him why. His guilty eyes darted away, and he pouted and dug into his bucket for another candy.

He pulled a strange face as he sucked on a chocolate drop, and she relaxed just slightly at the change of subject when he opened his trap again. “What do you say you and I split off and go have our own fun?” he asked leisurely, gesturing down the eerily dark street behind him, back in the direction he’d been leading her. His quiet chuckle was practically a purr. “I’ve got a bucket of treats and, well, we like tricks too, don’t we?”

“We _ do,” _ Shilo agreed warily. Her feet were heavy, but a wry curiosity urged them to move. She didn’t know what she was thinking, taking the arm he offered like a gentleman, but she willed her hand to cool down as she did. The rest of her was warm enough to compensate. It was easy to forget what she was doing out here tonight in the first place with his toothy smirk beaming down at her.

His mouth was moving.

She didn’t hear a damn word he said.

However, she _ did _ hear a distant familiar melody in the form of a whistle, and her blood iced over and her breath caught in her throat and she whipped her head around to find the source. Drakken glanced back as well, and then she shoved him away from her.

“Beat it, would ya?” she all but snarled at the bewildered man. She was bristling, shaking maybe – he was good as dead if he didn’t leave this very second, but the big dumb blue oaf was just standing there with his brow quirked at her. She added in a hiss, “My _ dad _ is watching us,” hoping it would inspire him to scram.

The spectacled man’s eyes widened and flicked past her and back down to her. “Your dad? You mean the Sherlock back there? _ Oh.” _ He bit his lip to silence a swear as he took a quick step away from her. He bowed courteously, despite his haste, and cleared his throat. “A good evening to you, miss,” he uttered and spun with a showy flair of his cape to leave.

“Or, y’know, you could man up and meet him,” Shilo teased dryly to his back before she could remember the ramifications of meeting her father. If only she came from a normal family – but if she had, she wouldn’t be here now with a funny blue Drakula nervously looking back at her and whimpering. Hell, he might not even be blue if it weren’t for her freakish family.

Drakken groped at the air and wrung his gloved hands. “I-I’ll pass,” he stuttered. “If he’s anything like you, I’d rather – I’ll – it’s not that I’m a coward if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

Shilo gave him a wry smirk, because it was the best she could offer with her father’s footsteps approaching behind her, and waved him off.

She steeled herself against whatever terrible or disapproving things her pops had to say about her peculiar blue distraction as she watched the vampire dissolve into the shadows of the dark street. So what if her father had seen him? Surely it was too dark to make out any details from this distance anyway. If she just kept Pops distracted for a while, Drakken could get out of dodge, and the _ real _ threat, Hego, would be none the wiser. They’d be safe as long as she plead the fifth.


	24. Welfare Check – 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested an update so I'm doing that in a timely manner for once.

A little orange bottle of her past had come back to haunt her.

The longer Shilo lay awake staring at the prescription drug, the more it felt as if the bottle was mocking her. That might have been a figment of her imagination, but one thing wasn’t: her family didn’t trust her. Why else would they deliver a suppressant disguised as a sleep aid? They still thought she was a danger to society, didn’t they? They were right, of course, but it still stung.

It had been hours since she’d gone to bed. Eventually she groaned and rolled over to face the wall, skewing her eyes shut – only to throw the blankets back and hurl the damned bottle into the bathroom trash, so she could shut the door to put that much more space between her and the pills.

Only to fish it out in the morning and stow in the medicine cabinet. She changed her mind. Tossed it at the back of her makeup drawer. Stifled a scream and put the bottle back in the cabinet next to the aspirin and _ generic _ sleep aid.

She finally dressed and sat on her bed to shovel cereal for breakfast whilst glaring at the news coverage of the bizarro _ clown jet _ that had been parked outside her apartment until ten o’clock last night. Of course it had attracted attention yesterday. How could it not? As she glared at the footage showing her residence in the background, her spoon superheated and warped in her hand. She hoped Hugo choked on his breakfast for ruining hers.

Hugo had taken her skateboard yesterday in a failed attempt to slow her down so they could chat. Bold and bullheaded as ever, he’d grabbed it from under her feet and threw it, lacking the forethought to take gravity into account or consider who the board might hit when it came down, or what window it might sail through. Without the wheels under her feet today, she had ample time to notice incognito figures darting in her peripheral.

They didn’t trust her.

They didn’t trust her with powers she’d received from _ Lady Fate – _just as they had – any more than they trusted her to really be busy as she’d said she’d be.

If they were expecting to catch her in a drug bust or underage booze chugging or whatever miscreant activities they were so sure she squandered her days on, they had another thing coming.

As Buckley got the door for her, glaring up and down the street, Shilo couldn’t help ducking her head and hoping desperately that the presence of heroes in the vicinity due to her wouldn’t be grounds to fire her over. She _ liked _ Buckley’s café, most of the time. It smelled nice and there were more tasty treats than she could stomach, which made up for having to fake a smile for the customers. The other gals on Buckley’s crew were starting to warm up to her too, after a sort of initiation ceremony involving dope and the robbery of the 24-Seven.

Though, they were still sour with her for her Friday disappearance. That had been alleviated somewhat thanks to serving a certain blue customer yesterday, but the elbows were starting to be prodded in her ribs in a teasing way more than distinctly passive-aggressive. She’d much rather the “accidental” elbowing though, because she’d nearly lost her cool on Abigail for whispering snide insinuations five minutes into her shift as Shilo watched the storefront waiting for a blue idiot to appear again.

She decided she would have preferred Drakken when someone she was somehow even _ less _ happy to see moseyed in.

Shilo served him like she would anyone else. In turn, her pops ordered and left like anyone else would.

The cold but peaceful exchange made her feel dumb for giving her father the stink eye upon his entry. Even if his intentions were good, she didn’t need a helicopter parent.

Aside from a couple petulant customers, that was the extent of confrontations at Buckley’s for the day. It came as little relief when she knew her brothers were out there waiting for her, probably playing up the vigilante act as they kept a lookout.

Well if they wanted to watch her, they could watch her exit out the back door and light up a smoke with her middle finger as she left for the sanctuary of the library once again.

Before she reached the end of the alley, she turned on her heel, opting out of the direct route in favor of a detour. She’d mistakenly told her brothers yesterday that she habitually hit up the library after work. They didn’t have to know _ exactly _ when she went. The library was still open for a couple of hours, so there was no rush – and hell, there was no rule she had to go to the library anyway. Plans changed. She could change her plans on a whim.

So Shilo went window shopping around Main Street, walking slow as she clutched her purse, cursing to herself for not bringing more cash than what she needed for Chow.

It was just a little too chilly out to think about ice cream, as tempting as the colorful parlor was, and the competing coffeehouse was going out of business for good reason so something hot to drink was out. Pawnshops, thrift shops, antique shops, and the likes were a dime a dozen. Shilo ventured into a couple anyway, if only because a gnarly bear trap in a window lured her into one and the other displayed fine jewelry. She might have filched a pearl necklace if it weren’t for the antique shop’s owner, an antique herself, in a rocking chair at the back with a cane and seeing-eye dog while a grandson no older than ten tended the counter. It would have been a piece of cake, but she didn’t have the heart to rob her blind or steal from the scruffy little kid. Her family might be watching her, anyway.

Shilo was venturing around one of the side streets when a gaudy purple storefront drew her eye from a block away. As she neared, she spied an equally purple arrangement of amethyst geodes in the window. Other quartz varieties were displayed around the prominent purple centerpiece, and as she cocked her head and peered in, she couldn’t shake the sense the array was familiar.

As she entered the rock shop, she realized why. A boy with fair blond hair like the sun itself sat at the counter, barely looking up from his task of polishing a stone-carved elephant as he issued a mechanical greeting, “Welcome to the Quarter Quartz.” Dazzling aquamarine eyes made up for the dull reception. He blinked as though shaking off his polishing daze and added politely, “Have a look around. Take your time, I’m here all day. Holler if you need something.”

Suddenly Shilo felt especially stupid perusing shops around town with so little cash on hand.

The quaint gift shop had a broad selection, yet was just small enough that she couldn’t hide from the aqua eyes following her. Inoffensive Gospel music played softly from speakers in the corners of the shop, just shy of obnoxious as long as she didn’t pay much attention. Which was easy, given there was so much else to take in that weren’t freakishly picture-perfect blue-eyed blond angel boys.

T-shirts with technicolor graphics, either tigers or religious hype, didn’t hold her attention any longer than bulk bins of tumbled stones and quartz tidbits, to which the shop surely owed its name. It would have been easy to pocket a few of the prettier pebbles, but she knew there were eyes on her back, even when she heard the angel boy flipping pages of a magazine. They were worthless rocks anyway.

Colorful bandanas and artsy jewelry lined the way as she crept closer to the counter, and she paused halfway there to contemplate turning and bolting out of the shop. As naturally as possible, she grabbed the first thing of interest off a shelf of shiny knickknacks made from a wide range of minerals in every color.

She inspected the small glass globe on its little pedestal. As she stared at it in her palm, a wry tune flitted through her head, and she could just hear her bluebird singing it as she mouthed to herself, _ “He’s got the whole world in his hands.” _ She grit her teeth then at the distant memory of her mother plucking away at a guitar to the very same tune.

She almost threw the globe, or at least set it down carelessly, but took a deep breath and gave the golf-ball-sized sphere a spin on its functional axis. She checked the bottom for a price tag. Twenty dollars, even. She had twenty-five on hand.

Lips pursed in thought, she cast a sidelong glance to the cheap trinkets at the checkout counter, contemplating the basket of overpriced five-dollar strings of little stone beads that served as bracelets, which she couldn’t help noticing the fidgety boy was making more of now. She looked back to the heavy glass globe in her palm.

It would make a good paperweight, she decided. And it might serve to keep Drakken’s mind on track with his whole world-domination fantasy.

Shilo resigned herself to approaching the angel-turned-cashier. And not just approaching him, doing business with him. Her hands almost glittered as she came forth and set the glass decoration between them.

As she dug into her purse at her hip for her wallet, she almost jumped at the sound of the angel boy clearing his throat.

“Find everything?” he chimed.

She made the mistake of glancing up, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was busy fidgeting away with his string of beads. Her hands were warm again, try as she might to divert it, or stamp it out, or exhale a hot breath to relieve herself of an unpleasant burning not too unlike heartburn. She couldn’t wait for the day she mastered her accursed fire completely. She’d gotten clear through high school with impromptu flare-ups. She could bear to give an angel boy with some of the prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen her business.

After a moment, she realized she was staring mute, so she nodded and fished out the crumpled twenty dollar bill from her wallet. For a second, she hoped Drakken wouldn’t miss it. She’d meant to return the tip she’d stolen from him yesterday, but she could replace it later, along with the rest of the money she’d been taking from his wallet on a weekly basis now. He hadn’t seemed to miss any of it yet.

Paying should have been uneventful. She didn’t anticipate the boy to catch her by the wrist, swiftly clasping on a bracelet of—

“Obsidian,” he supplied. “And jasper.”

Shilo clamped her jaw shut and yanked her hand back from the boy’s baby-soft touch before she could mistakenly give him a burn that would surely leave a callus. She fumbled with the clasp, trying to get the string of black and green pebbles off, just as competently mumbling, “I-I can’t buy this. I’m only—”

“On the house,” said angel boy, already shaking out a small paper bag and padding it with tissue to cushion the glass knickknack.

As he handed her the purchase, she managed to move her jaw again to utter a simple, “Thank you,” and spun on her heel to make a getaway before he changed his mind about being dull or giving her a shiny trinket.

“God bless,” he called pleasantly after her.

Déjà vu wasn’t complete without nearly running into the door on her way out.

She really wanted to damn him now. If not for getting her flustered just by being pretty, then for the knowing chuckle that followed her out as she escaped. And if not for that – well, he just deserved it. She didn’t know what for, but there had to be something. Everyone had something.

She slowed her pace as she reached the far corner and looked back over her shoulder at the purple Quarter Quartz, then groaned and shook her head to herself as she went on her way.

Once the nauseating butterflies settled and her mind turned to scouting for her brothers scouting for her, Shilo became increasingly aware how long she’d been on her feet and how hungry she was getting. She checked the receipt in the bag for a timestamp to give herself an idea of the hour, as the cloudy sky was growing dim fast, and she had to stomp down the stirring in her belly again as she decided it was late enough to head for Cow-n-Chow.

She counted herself lucky to catch the bus, one of the scarce few in town, even if she had to run for it, relieved to hitch a ride back toward the center of town. She dug out the globe to idly spin it, but try as she might to study tiny engravings on the world map, her eyes gravitated to her wrist instead.

The rocks were pretty. Even if there didn’t seem to be any particular pattern to the tiny pebbles, and they looked a little like glorified aquarium gravel.

She’d take it off, rip it off, _ something, _but it was her stop, so discarding the freebie trinket was put on the back burner.

Cow-n-Chow was a nice enough fast-food chain as any. Specialty burgers and milkshakes were their big sellers, and there was dining with wait staff like any nice restaurant, but there was also an express-service counter for grabbing Chow to go, and a drive-thru, and Shilo’s soles were too achy for takeaway.

She was glad the joint didn’t have much in the way for windows, making watching for her brothers popping in as easy as watching the door. Well, almost as easy. _ Milo _ was still an expert in covert infiltration.

She must have been more wiped out than she thought she was, she realized when a familiar voice made her jump.

“Mind if I sit?”

Shilo lolled her head back to cast a tired glare up at Dr. Drakken, dressed in typical civilian wear consisting of a plain black sweater and slacks, as well as his preferred gloves. His hair was loose, veiling his neck and leaving the only remarkably bizarre feature about the man being his blue face, which she was grudgingly reluctant to admit she was happy to see. It meant he hadn’t been hauled off yet.

“It’s your funeral,” she sighed and kicked his shin under the table when he slid into the little booth across from her. She cast a watchful glance around the restaurant, but he dismissed her worries before she could glare too long.

“They’re down the street at the grill,” he informed, a note of resent dripping in his grumble.

“How do you know?” Shilo snipped back at him. She narrowed her eyes on him, anticipating a confession to stalking. Though the thought of her brothers preoccupied elsewhere was comforting, and she almost relaxed.

Drakken snorted, his lip twitched into a sneer. “To tell the truth, I was headed there myself but they beat me, so now I’m here for happy hour.” He took a long sip from a chocolate milkshake he’d brought to the table with him.

Curiosity killed the cat. “There alcohol in that?” she piped, nodding to the tall glass, and he grunted confirmation. “Can I get a sip?”

_ “No.” _ He jerked back a bit and pulled it further from her.

Using it as a bargaining chip, Shilo set the sack from the Quarter Quartz on the table beside her. “I’ll let ya know what’s in the bag,” she playfully bribed. “It’s a gift for you. But I guess it can wait until Christmas. Or, I dunno, your birthday, whenever _ that _ is.” She shrugged nonchalantly, and watched as the blue man’s curious eyes locked on the bag.

She swore she could see him tensing to spring as three seconds ticked by, and then he cast a quick look around the restaurant himself before pushing the glass across the table to her. “It’s not that strong,” he warned dismissively as she took a taste. “Just enough to give it a kick.” She could only hum in acknowledgment as she pushed the bag his way.

Shilo wanted to blame the spiked drink for warming her as he pulled out the globe. His weary eyes brightened up a little. His mouth quirked into a smile and he gave the tiny planet a spin, watching it rotate for a moment before flicking a glance up to her, and then his smile cracked and crumbled and he dropped his gaze.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he chuckled, stifling his smirk and taking his milkshake back.

“Whatever do you mean?” Shilo feigned innocence and had to smother a small laugh of her own, composing herself as the waiter came around. She looked across to Drakken, unabashedly wondering, “Since you’re here, you gonna buy me dinner?” She only had five bucks for herself, which was just enough for a basic Chow combo.

He pulled a face, looking ten times more tired in an instant, and drug his hand down his mug. _ “Fine,” _he grumped, and ordered for her before she had the chance. Lucky number 7, extra pepper jack and mushrooms, hold the onions, and large fries – not that she was complaining, but since when did he know exactly what she had in mind? Face warm, she decided it was just a lucky guess. She’d only been ordering the same Chow meal for weeks.

She supposed she could say the same for him, though, because she rolled her eyes as his own predictable order. “Leave it to you to go into _ Cow _ -n-Chow and get _ chicken _ strips,” she sighed when the waiter left.

“I like the crunch,” he defended.

Shilo reached across for the milkshake to thieve another sip, and he only grunted his objection. “You know you’re really pushing your luck here, right, Doc?”

He only gave a nonchalant shrug, taking his glass back to wipe the straw with a napkin like some kind of germaphobe. “Maybe I like the danger.”

Shilo found herself slumping over the table, holding her head up with cheek in hand. “Live for the thrill, huh?” she guessed, watching for the next opportunity to take the milkshake he now guarded.

“I don’t mind it.”

“We should go skydiving sometime.”

The man’s suave exterior was a sham, and it broke easily as he just about choked on his drink. “W-what?” he sputtered. He almost let go of the glass and gave her a chance to grab it, but then he was holding it closer, stabbing at the milkshake with the straw in an anxious fidget.

Her pinky nail found its way between her teeth as she contemplated negotiations. “Alright, _ hang-gliding,” _ she bartered. “Sound better?”

Drakken was still frowning. She decided she’d have to sway him into it eventually. One way or another, she’d bring out his adventurous side. “I was thinking skiing,” he grumbled, and changed his mind when she rolled her eyes. “Snowboarding?”

“That’s more up my alley,” she feigned, though if she were honest, she’d done neither, so she couldn’t say for sure. But she used to surf, so snowboarding couldn’t be much different, could it? She shook her head to dispel fanciful thoughts of a resort vacation, and made a grabbing motion for the drink he was reluctant to surrender. She was bound to catch something if she didn’t break the habit that was forming.

“Alright, you’re cut off,” Drakken declared in a hiss as a waitress swept by, and Shilo reluctantly forfeited the spiked milkshake. He wiped off the straw again, and hummed thoughtfully as he sculpted peaks in the dessert. “You know, if we ever need to skip town, I have a place in Alaska,” he noted. “I imagine the skiing is good there.”

She arched her brow. “Seriously?”

Drakken sighed. “Seriously.”

A minute later, Shilo was drumming her fingers impatiently waiting on the order to arrive when Drakken hummed again. Her sidelong glance cut to him, and she couldn’t shake the feeling he licked his straw from one end of the other to make a point that it was his, like some kind of overgrown child. She didn’t care. If she wanted another sip, she’d take it. It couldn’t be any worse than sharing leftovers with her baby brothers.

The food came at last, hot and fresh.

Drakken was dipping his fries in the chocolate and Shilo was having the damnedest time not watching the display. She tried to eat quickly. They were really pushing their luck, sitting around, shooting the breeze, when her family was out there somewhere, hunting for her like hound dogs.

Yet he didn’t seem to be in any rush when he waved an especially long chicken strip at her like a pointer. “That’s nice. Did you steal it?” he wondered, and Shilo didn’t have to glance to know what he was pointing at.

She all but slammed her soda down as her palm warmed over with an odd fizzling sensation reminiscent of the carbonated beverage she nearly crushed in her grip. “I got it for free,” she answered with a vague lilt. She was that much closer to tearing it off, but hid her hand under the table instead and filled her mouth with fries so she wouldn’t have to speak.

She spoke anyway before she could even swallow. “Some guy gave it to me,” she divulged, and convinced herself she only let it slip to watch the words burrow under his skin.

They really must have, because his innocent curiosity and relaxed stare hardened into a frown as he scoffed and sat back. “Imagine that,” he mumbled into the milkshake glass as he took a swig, not bothering with the straw anymore.

Shilo didn’t zip her lips shut in time. “Jealous?” she quipped.

Drakken hardly bothered to shake his head, preoccupied with dipping a chicken strip in his milkshake as if it were just another condiment.

Lip curled in disgust, Shilo sat back as he took a bite of the abomination. “Can you not be gross?” she snipped. “Cripes, I thought you had good taste.” She thought _ she _ had better taste. She told herself even angel boy fanning inexplicable hellfire ready to engulf her was preferable to sitting down to Chow with Drakken. She barely convinced herself, even watching him double-dip chicken in chocolate.

She shuddered. “I’m done,” she announced as she jumped up. “Catch you later.”

Drakken didn’t spare a farewell as she left him with the little glass globe and the bill.


	25. Welfare Check – 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this is a fairly young Shego, still technically a teenager and just a few years into superpowers, and as such, still learning how to cope. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (And she'll be younger in the next chapter. PFFT)

Dressed for bed with hair damp, Shilo had wasted her evening sitting up in front of the television, waiting for her family to show up to pester her, but they never did. Now it was bedtime, _ past _ bedtime, and she’d been lying awake with the blankets kicked off, the top of her pajamas flayed open to cool her burning skin as she lay sprawled out, breathing deep, eyes skewed shut.

_ Hot flash _ was literal in her case. She hoped the cotton of her pajamas wouldn’t burn as her skin glittered.

As if rest wasn’t hard enough to come by knowing her family was in town, she had cool blue eyes on the brain – and that was the last thing she needed haunting her to fan the flame.

Another cold shower didn’t exactly do the trick, but at least she was considerably safer under the water. She let the tub fill and lay in the bath long after she got pruney. Dozing off there was tempting, but as a kid, her mother had always warned her about falling asleep in the tub. It was probably just for the sake of not hogging the bathroom, she decided. Sleeping in shallow water was preferable to scorching her sheets for the fifth time this month.

If it weren’t for her brothers, she could self-medicate with the stash she’d stolen from the guest she’d evicted Halloween morning. She’d only just gotten the smell reasonably out of the apartment, and opening the tin now would spell trouble.

Her eyes were drawn to the medicine cabinet and the promise of sleep it held. The last time she’d seen the clock, it was nearing midnight. She didn’t want to think about the hour now.

Shilo clambered out of the tub in the dark, not bothering to grab a towel as the water steamed off her body, and she stood stark naked and on the verge of overheating all over again as she hunched over the bathroom sink. She couldn’t see what she reached for. Everything was blurry from hot tears welling up. She couldn’t keep her eyes squeezed shut forever.

She wanted to dump out the bottle and flush the pills down the toilet.

That was her intent anyway as she fumbled with the lid with trembling hands, but she damned herself as she tossed her head back to swallow one down dry and slammed the cabinet shut so hard the mirror broke. She pawed at her burning eyes and left the bathroom, shaking glass from her bare feet as she decided she’d deal with the mess in the morning.

The apartment was already beginning to feel frigid by the time she choked down a slice of bread to put something her stomach to chase the harsh pill.

Gravity came down on her, everything beginning to feel heavy in a hurry as the unheated studio sapped whatever heat was left on her skin. She told herself she was just tired. She wasn’t steaming anymore and licks of green flame had ceased flickering over her body, so she couldn’t complain.

Shilo exhaled an exhausted sigh as the relief drew her to bed. She was just a little too drowsy now to be upset anymore for giving in. She could hate herself tomorrow, she decided as she patted around her blankets in the dark. Her fingers curled into soft woven fabric bundled near the head of her bed as she straightened the pillows she’d discarded, and she didn’t think twice about pulling on the oversized sweater to replace the ruined pajamas she’d abandoned on the bathroom floor. She pulled off the bat brooch and collapsed, barely finding the energy to tug the disheveled blanket over her as she fell deeper under the pill’s spell.

If her glow wasn’t still dormant four hours later, she would have fired a shot at her alarm just to sleep in. Keeping the offending clock across the room on her dresser was incentive to pick herself up out of bed each morning, but today with a sedative drug in her system, it was a little less compelling.

Eventually though, she rolled out of bed and slumped over shut it off. And then she stood there at the vanity, staring at the miserable reflection looking back at her. Her hair was a mess and she had work to do to hide the shadows under her reddened eyes. A strange man’s sweater hanging off her body shouldn’t have been the only comfort she found in the frame, but she hugged herself and reminded herself it was hers now. She’d stolen it, fair and square.

A knock at the door made her jump and she hastily pulled on the first pair of jeans she grabbed off the floor.

“Hope you’re decent!” hollered Milo from the other side, and she was just spinning her back to the door to button her pants as he squeezed in through a crack and rose to his natural height inside her apartment.

She’d rag his ear off about home invasion and criminal trespass and the likes, but she knew he’d disregard it. They were family and he was a superhero, so he could get away with that kind of thing. She swore it would bite him in the ass one of these days.

“What do you want?” she groused over her shoulder, digging into her drawers and hoping that setting a bra on top would ward him off.

It didn’t. She regretted making him do the laundry since he was a tween, but she’d been stuck taking care of the twerps so it was the least he could have done to pull his own weight.

He put himself between her and the drawers, and she wanted to strike him, and maybe pack a little heat behind it, but when she clenched her fist she realized the heat of her glow was still extinguished. The fleeting fear crossed her mind of Global Justice changing the formula to lengthen her downtime.

Milo crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her, and said, “You lied.”

“Yeah?” she snorted. “I’m not under oath.” She didn’t care to ask about what. She’d lied that she’d go to the library yesterday, and she’d lied that she’d never take the damn worthless pills again, and she’d lied—

“He _ didn’t _ go to Mexico.”

She quirked her brow at him. And then it hit her – _ that _ lie – and she took a hasty step back away from her brother. Her heart started to thud. She almost felt warm, but it was nothing compared to the fire that would have burned her had she not swallowed the pill last night. Nonetheless, she suddenly saw her breath in the chilly apartment.

“Don’t worry,” said Milo nonchalantly, waving a hand flippantly and holding it out palm-up. He kept his voice down. “I’ll keep quiet about your weirdo boyfriend.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “He’s not my – _ augh! _ Fine.” Shilo spun around, dropping to her knees by her bed to pull out her go-bag, yet to be fully unpacked from the Las Vegas lark. She needed to grab some extra spending money for herself today anyway. She winced at the sound of beer cans knocking around under there and glared over her shoulder as she fished out a single bill. An even hundred dollars was enough for her spoiled little brother to give a content grunt and stuff it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“So you don’t live together, huh?” he wondered, eyeing the place. “Pretty shitty of him if he can’t—”

“Hey! You said you’d keep quiet,” Shilo seethed, bundling up the clothes off her dresser.

“And you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

Her lips had never zipped shut faster. Her face went pink – she could see it in the mirror – and she whipped around with an indignant huff to change in the bathroom.

She miserably remembered about the shattered glass strewn across the bathroom floor. She picked her way around it and decided she’d deal with it tonight, sweeping some of it aside with her scorched pajamas for now. If blue eyes hadn’t troubled her last night, she wouldn’t have to deal with the mess at all. Or at least, she wanted to blame the rising distress that had lead to her breaking point on the stupid fantasies. She wouldn’t have taken the pill at all if she hadn’t been flustered over stupid beads.

Once she was dressed and presentable enough for family, she stormed out, ready to shove her little brother away from the vanity so she could finish her routine. She narrowed her eyes on the trinket he held. She wasn’t sure where she’d displaced it last night, but he’d found it and was looking over each little pebble as if they held a clue.

“Too cheap to buy you gold, huh?” scoffed Milo as she yanked the bracelet from him.

Denying him an answer, she returned the trinket to her wrist – if only because it _ wasn’t _ a gift from the rogue doctor. Milo didn’t know that, but at least she did, and it helped Shilo hold her ground. “Are you done prying into my personal life?”

“Nope. How old is he?”

She grimaced. She didn’t want to admit that to Milo, much less to herself. It could be worse, but admitting the man in question was several years older than her wouldn’t help her case – not that the detail mattered. “How much do you know?” she asked, sparing him a cagey sidelong glance as she perched on her dresser before the vanity mirror.

“I know you went on a date last night.”

She nearly dropped her brush. Her nerves were harder to mask than the signs of fatigue stamped under her eyes. “No, I didn’t,” she snorted in a poor attempt to dismiss the accusation.

Milo cleared his throat. It was _ never _ a good thing when Milo cleared his throat, or opened his mouth at all for that matter. “Let’s elope to _ Alaska _ and go _ skiing,” _ he jeered, gripping the air as if miming skiing – until he made a suggestive motion that made Shilo painfully glad she’d taken the dreadful pill last night.

Mortified by his heckling, she stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed for a moment before her brow knit together in a glare. “If you tell anyone—”

“Cool it,” said her little brother, hands up. “I’m the only one who knows your dirty little secret. Promise.”

Her patience was worn thinner than tissue._ “Get out!” _ she barked at him, and he actually jumped back.

Milo looked her over and shrugged as he turned around. “If you insist,” he said flippantly.

She wished she hadn’t told him off – because he opened the front door to allow an even bigger headache to barge in. She could only stifle a groan and rub her temples, on the verge of screaming as she stifled a distraught whimper.

They couldn’t keep this up forever, she decided, hastily finishing up in front of the mirror. She shouldered her purse, locked the door, and trotted down the staircase as she tied her hair back with a teal bandana to match her cardigan. Just shy of _ running _ from it, she ignored Hugo’s persistent complaints about not keeping to her routine yesterday.

The only good thing that came from him shadowing her was the information he divulged. She tried not to let her shoulders slump with relief at the news they were leaving soon – _ soon, _ soon – as in within the hour, because the boys had missed enough school. She couldn’t smile about it, but she was glad to hear it anyway.

_ “Ohh,” _ she crooned, looking back at her plaid-clad lumberjack of a brother looming just behind her. “Sorry we didn’t get to hang out much. Maybe next time.”

“Next month,” supplied Milo.

“We’ll work something out,” added Hugo. “The twins would’ve liked to spend more time with their sister, but—”

“I was _ busy,” _ Shilo sternly reminded. “My life doesn’t revolve around you guys or the twerps anymore.”

Milo coughed. “Yeah, so I’ve noticed.”

She shot a scowl to her lavender brother sauntering along on her other side. He was close to having his teeth knocked out. She didn’t need her glow for that. She balled her fists and set her jaw, picking up the pace.

A month. She had a month until she had to deal with her family again. A month to tear that reckless Drakken a new one. It wasn’t crucial, but if she could find a new guy to hide him behind by then, she might be set, as long as her family didn’t suspect the rogue to be anything more than a creep preying on young women. Nate had been a crappy alibi, but she’d been desperate, and he had a car, and was easily talked into being the getaway driver for her and Buckley’s girls – and then he didn’t want to leave. He had been convenient. She could do better.

A month was generous.

Shilo looked between her brothers shadowing her. If Milo had been lying – if the leader of Team Go really did know the man who’d spirited her away was in town – then Hugo would surely be wringing his hands and grumbling things like, _ “Just wait until I get my hands on him,” _ or interrogating her for his location. He wouldn’t be wasting his time with puppy-dog eyes trying to guilt-trip her, or whatever he was playing at. Town might even be crawling with Global Justice agents if he knew. But it wasn’t, and so far Hugo had only made a pathetic attempt to bring the family back together for the holiday and convince her to rejoin the team to live in the Go Tower alone, if she wanted her space that badly.

So she relaxed a little.

Halfway to Buckley’s, she crossed paths with her downtrodden father. He kept his eyes downcast and said nothing. Shilo looked to her younger brother, a little hopeful the center of attention would like to shed a little light, but he only grimaced slightly and shrugged. As she hugged the twerps goodbye, she couldn’t shake the sense that she’d been disowned on Halloween from the minute she’d slammed the door in the man’s face. That was fine by her. It was high time he got the hint he’d lost all grasp on her – on _ them. _ He was nothing more than a glorified babysitter now thanks to Lady Fate and Global Justice.

She squeezed the twerps once more – and kept her complaints to herself when Hugo stooped to engulf her in his huge embrace. If only to be included, Milo managed to wrap his spindly arms around them as well.

The hug lasted a little too long for comfort. She worried she was about to be hefted up and toted off while she was still next to helpless to defend herself. After a moment, she cleared her throat and shifted, spurring Hugo to release her. He did so reluctantly.

The twins turned tearful pleading eyes up at her.

She didn’t need that.

She didn’t need _ them _ begging her to come home with them.

Shilo kissed her index fingers and pressed them to their dimpled cheeks before the twerps could start bawling their little hearts out. A sweet lie that she’d send them some of Buckley’s special candy was enough to perk them up. They were still stubborn about releasing her legs. It took Hugo scruffing them by the straps of their overalls to hoist onto his shoulders before Shilo could put distance between herself and her family.

“Next month,” she said in lieu of a goodbye. She was still unsure what _ next month _ would entail, but she gave a small wave and a weak smile anyway as she retreated.

The group stood on the corner, watching her go. She turned her eyes straight ahead, determined not to glance back at them until she’d rounded a block herself, where she risked a peek over her shoulder just to be sure they weren’t following her. She heard the rumble of the jet shortly before reaching Buckley’s and saw it zip across the sky.

The next few hours proved to her that her family weren’t the only ones in a funk.

Shilo downed caffeine throughout the day in hopes of taking the edge off her fatigue. Every so often between customers, she slapped her own cheeks. She was off her game. It must have been painfully obvious and awfully annoying to her fellow barista when the stocky girl struck her in the shoulder just as Shilo raised her hands to pat her cheeks again.

“Need help slapping your face?” wondered the henchgirl-to-be with dry sarcasm.

“No, thanks. I’m good,” Shilo shot back, though she decided she might stick to the espressos.

She scrunched her face in a grimace at the bell jingling behind her back, and she drew a deep breath to prepare herself. She was composed and smiling and as awake and alert as she could be when she spun back around on her heel to face the customer and recite the usual greeting, “Welcome to Buckley’s Brew, what can I brew y—_ yo.” _

She jerked back as she fixed her eyes on the customer, standing prim and proper and just about eye-blinding, dressed in shades of white and beige with hair as bright as the sun and eyes as dazzling as a clear July sky and—

And Shilo realized she was staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the radiant angel boy.

She blinked rapidly and shuddered as the warmth crept back over her skin and tingled across her clammy palms. Of course _ now _ the effects of the suppressant would wear off. Granted, she might have helped speed it along by downing more than the recommended allowance of espresso.

The boy cracked a smile of bleached-white teeth, quipping, _ “Yo, _ back at you.”

Shilo barely heard him. She gripped the counter. _ “Angel boy,” _she blurted under her breath. She blinked again. Glanced back and gestured to the menu on the wall behind her – just about smacking her fellow barista Gail in doing so – and quickly sputtered, “W-well? What can I get ya? I haven’t got all day.” She winced at the crass words that flew out of her mouth.

The young man raised his brow at her and stepped aside to inspect the glass display loaded with fresh baked goods. “Just having a look around,” he said innocently. Shilo tried not to glance his way, setting her glower on the tip jar instead, but still caught his straight face crack again with a smile. “It all looks good. What do you suggest?”

When Shilo stood stock-still and mute, clutching the counter like a lifeline, Abigail knuckled her hip to shove her over to follow the customer to make a sale, but she didn’t budge. “I, uh. The daily special is…uh,” she floundered, realizing to her mortification that she couldn’t recall the special she’d only been suggesting robotically to each customer today.

_ “Pumpkin strudel,” _ answered Abigail impatiently.

Shilo caught a glimpse of angel boy’s eyes settling on the latest addition to Buck’s pastry showcase and she felt something twist in her stomach.

“Sounds good,” angel boy chimed, tapping the glass. “I’ll take one – oh, and a caramel latte. To go.”

“I-I’ll get right on that,” Shilo stuttered, prying her hands off the counter and willing away the heat. Severely lacking in the _ friendly _ department, she avoided eye contact as she fulfilled her duties otherwise.

“What is with you?” hissed Abigail, all but shoving the latte in Shilo’s hands.

“I – um – nothing,” she mumbled and quickly ducked away. If she could, the fellow barista might have swatted her upside the head. And if she had, Shilo might have spun to release some of the pent-up energy begging for an escape.

Shilo kept her eyes locked on the countertop as she slid the order across. In turn, angel boy slid over a bill. “Keep the change,” he said, as if the fifty cent difference was really all that generous. He took his order and left a little quickly, Shilo raising her brow at his back as he went.

As she made to put the cash in the till, she discovered a slip of paper beneath the bill – which Shilo snatched up and stuffed in her pocket, throwing a hasty glance to ill-tempered Abigail already whispering to Buckley through the window to the kitchen.

_ Westinger Grill, 6pm Friday _

No name. No number. The Westinger rang a bell though.

Shilo found herself eyeing the slip of paper as she sat on the bus heading to the far end of town that evening. Her heart gave a lurch each time she glanced at it. Buckley had warned her, _ “Watch out for that one.” _ But Buckley couldn’t tell her why. Just that it was a gut feeling. But Shilo had a gut feeling too, and it had been fermenting all afternoon.

Whether a date or a prank, she knew where he worked. One way or another, she’d make him regret driving her to such desperate measures last night.

Angel boy was good as damned.

She tried not to walk with such a spring in her step, but jubilance made the trek up the hill go that much quicker. As usual, she found the gate chained and locked, but the barbed wire at the top had been removed after her mishap, making climbing it a second time a cinch.

As she entered the stuffy lab Dr. Drakken had himself safely holed up in – behaving himself finally now that it didn’t matter – she swore she caught a whiff of something sweet. It almost made the stale air pleasant to breathe.

“Ugh!” she groaned hugely as she strode across the cavern toward the man seated in a spare computer chair, hunched over his favorite work desk. He didn’t look up. She tried raising her voice, adding dryly, “I never thought I’d be so glad to be in a stuffy cave.”

The closer she came, the quicker his movements got, but there was no hope of finishing his task quick of enough to hide the project she fancied poking a little harmless fun at him for. He still seemed to be in a rush to connect cables like veins and arteries that connected an arm to a torso, too preoccupied to spare her more than a grunt.

“What’chu got there, Doc?” she jibbed, as if she didn’t already know. She perched on the armrest and leaned an elbow on his shoulder to stoop over and watch him tightening minuscule screws and tapping here and there with a soldering iron. He stiffened under her weight, and she let herself lean heavier against him as she pressed his buttons. “Trying to replace me already, huh? Man. Can’t believe you’re still working on these things. You’re such a nerd.” She tugged a lock of loose hair hanging by his ear for good measure. “You really got your heart set on these robo-girlfriends, huh?”

He fumbled with his screwdriver, dropping a tiny screw through the mess of connective cables. She could see his ears turning purple with his weird blush, and though he wore his awkward goggles, she _ knew _ he was glaring. His jaw was set, but he pried it open to gripe, “I’ll have you know, they’re more like my children at this point.”

Shilo – _ Shego _ scoffed. He’d yet to explain in full how they came about, and she wasn’t sure she could stay awake to listen to ancient history if he began the tale now. He had let on though that the Bebe sisters were a pet project of his since his teens and fresh out of high school – which must have been an awful long time to have his heart set on a single project he’d yet to perfect. It didn’t reflect well on his capability, by evil genius standards, and just _ thinking _ about the prototype robots made Shego quirk her mouth in doubt that this man would amount to more than a hermit scientist in a hole in the ground, making his living by building dangerous toys for others.

She wondered for a moment if she’d be alright with that – as long as he gave her something to do and took her out to stir a little mayhem now and then, of course.

Watching the twist and pull of his frown as he chewed on curses and grumbles, she stopped herself just short of reaching for the ponytail worn loose and low, and jerked away instead at the jolt of nerves flaring in her gut.

She shoved off from his shoulder before she could burn him by accident and found something else for her hands to do.

Hovering beside him instead, she lifted a limp robot leg to shamelessly inspect the carapace for female anatomy beyond the breastplate – which surprisingly served a function, allowing for extra room to store the cooling system and other vitals like the battery and what amounted to a complex synthetic nervous system.

Though her search came up empty, she mumbled, “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” and leaned forward to fold her arms on the table as she watched the man beside her continue to tinker and fumble with the inner workings of a shoulder, reaching into the gaping chest cavity on occasion to string something through.

Drakken must have reached a stopping point because suddenly he stood. Or maybe he just couldn’t focus any longer with her practically breathing down his neck. Either way, he snapped the breastplate shut, but otherwise clearly left the task unfinished as he hit the button under the desk to draw the privacy curtain shut and shut off the surgical light overhead. With his dorky magnifying goggles on, she couldn’t really see the glare he shot her way, but the curve of his mouth was enough to get the point across.

“I don’t need you criticizing me,” he declared, abandoning the pet project for now. He tore off the goggles, tossing them aside on the computer mainframe serving as a desk as he passed, and pulled his regular spectacles back on.

Tailing him, Shego clicked her tongue. “Contract never said I couldn’t,” she twittered.

He made a beeline for his kitchen, shedding his gloves and tossing his oil-stained jacket on the back of a barstool Shego set herself in a moment later to watch him roll up his sleeves and scrub down. “So,” he grumbled over his shoulder. “If you’re here, then I take it your family has gone home, yes?”

She couldn’t help the contented smile that stretched across her face. “Affirmative,” she answered blithely. “So far, so good. But you need to practice being sneaky. You’re lucky you weren’t busted.”

“Hmm, why’s that?”

“Milo saw us.”

Drakken threw an alarmed glance back at her, fumbling for a towel to dry off. “What? Who’s – the purple one?” he guessed, and she nodded. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, I’m not worried about that one.”

_ “That one _ has a mouth on him, you know. He’s kind of a rat,” she warned gravely. She barely found the nerve to discuss the matter, especially after her brother’s crude take on their idle chitchat at Cow-n-Chow. “You need to be more careful. They’re coming back to check on me next month. Dunno when. Hope they give me a heads up first. But for now, they’re out of my hair.”

The man made a disgruntled kind of noise as he rummaged into the fridge. “That’s good to hear,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he thought so. “So you’re available again?”

Shego perked up at the implication in his tone, and couldn’t help a wry smile. “Depends. What’chu got in mind?” she shot eagerly.

“Oh, it’s that pesky Dementor again,” said Drakken, lip raised in disdain as he waved a large knife with a roll of his wrist. “Every time I think he’s out of the picture, he pops back up like that moldy spot in the corner.”

_ “Ew,” _ Shego muttered, and couldn’t help a glance around to figure out which corner he was referring to. In a room carved out of the earth, there were a lot of corners, nooks, and crannies.

Drakken cleared his throat to regain her attention and dropped a cutting board with a clatter at the end of the island. “Anyway. I hear he goes by _ Professor _ Dementor now. He’s reconstructed and upgraded his seismic generator, and now he’s planning to threaten the world with tsunamis for some ridiculous demonstration. We need to find it and get rid of it – _ for good, _ this time.”

Shego grimaced. “That’s hero work,” she complained, and bit her lip for sounding like such a petulant child. Nevermind that there was evidently a villain teaching a class on global threats—

“It’s a necessary evil – err, good,” Drakken answered grimly, slicing away at bell peppers. “I can’t have his plans succeeding before mine.”

She rolled her eyes and retorted, “What _ are _ your plans anyway?” She already knew the answer to that. “I haven’t seen you do anything super radical since I got here.” Granted, she hadn’t been with him long.

“We’re biding our time, Shego,” crooned the rogue doctor, and she could practically mouth it along with him. “By the time your pesky brothers accept you’ve given up the whole hero lifestyle and have moved on, I’ll have the resources to play in the big leagues. I’m almost there, dear. You’ll see. We don’t need some little city guardians tipping off big brother because they found out their little sissy is a criminal.”

Somehow, _ sissy _ bothered her more than _ dear. _ She grimaced. _ “Watch it,” _ she warned. Nonetheless, she was glad to still be included in his plans, and it was reassuring to know her brothers’ hovering wasn’t a deal-breaker – though it was all the proof she needed to believe he was out of his mind. And even if it was all sweet lies he fed her to serve his unclear agenda, she still smiled at the prospect of sticking around to see it.

She had an itch after all, and he knew just how to scratch it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene picks back up immediately in _Ch27. Aura of Others!_


	26. Intermission: Jagged Little Pill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _you live, you learn / you love, you learn / you cry, you learn / you lose, you learn / you bleed, you learn / you scream, you learn_ ~ "You Learn" by Alanis Morissette  
Time for a brief intermission for some backstory. I have my reasons. This may clash with the flow a little bit, but oh well.
> 
>   
(full picture at the end!)

New Years Eve held promise. A new year, a new start, a new resolution, a new _ her. _ The troubled city now knew her not as Shilo Gough, a local nobody, but as a rising superheroine by the alias of _ Shego_.

It had taken a heap of good behavior to get out on probation just to go home in time for the winter holidays, though her siblings had been deemed low-risk and returned officially months ago once the restoration of the neighborhood had been completed. It helped that the grand unveiling of Team Go and her return to Go City had come a month early out of necessity.

At first, she eagerly embraced the new double-lifestyle, even if she wore an anklet at all times to track her whereabouts and the activity level of the new innate gift only _ Shego _ was permitted to use. It at least meant getting out of the facility and distancing herself from the research teams which wanted to dissect her under the guise of helping.

She’d thought going home to rejoin her family would mean returning to some normalcy, but December hadn’t gone great, as she’d been called into action no less than three times a week. Overall, it really hadn’t been her year, so it didn’t surprise her that even the season of gift-giving, comfy sweaters, and cookies was put on the back burner in favor of demanding hero duty.

She convinced herself she didn’t mind the distraction from Yuletide festivities. It beat sitting at home looking at gift tags signed _ From Santa _ in inelegant print or noticing the distinct lack of music that somehow made the house several degrees colder. Spending time with family was disheartening when it was incomplete anyway, but she’d run herself so far into the ground by Christmas that the best gift she could hope for was to be buried in her blankets – _ not _ running through the streets after the criminal of the week. Even with Global Justice’s so-called _ assistance, _ she’d hardly had a good night’s rest since coming home.

End of the month meant another refill on her prescription. The narcotic was uniquely formulated for her and came from no ordinary pharmacy.

Shilo – _ Shego _ – and her brothers-turned-teammates, Hego and Mego, had just wrapped up the Christmas caper and smiled and waved for the press and wished an early _ Happy New Year _ to all of Go City when they were collectively pulled aside by agents in the shadows. A woman with an eye patch congratulated them on a job well done, but a pat on the back was the extent of their reward when it came down to it. Mego sniffed and grinned, happy for the attention from a pretty lady doling out compliments, and Hego proudly announced it was all in a day’s work. Shego sighed and held out her hand in anticipation of the usual delivery she’d received from Betty personally for the past three months.

From there, they dressed back into street clothes in one of the agency’s many secret boltholes found throughout Go City, and Shego shook herself out in relief to be Shilo again. Her brothers wanted to walk home together, her sandwiched between them, so the relief was short-lived.

“There’s safety in numbers,” reminded Hugo, grabbing her arm to tow her along. He was filling out around the shoulders and torso, and lately his idea of a gentle grip had begun leaving bruises.

“Oh, _ come on!” _ Shilo whined. She recomposed herself quickly then to tease her older sibling instead, “What do you need me for? You can walk home yourself. You’re a big boy.” It was no exaggeration either. Hugo was little more than seventeen, but over the past year had developed a pair of guns capable of intimidating professional wrestlers. The jocks at their new school, which Hugo had been attending for months now, gave him a wide berth, so she heard.

Milo sprang three steps ahead in the snow suddenly, proclaiming his independence, _ “I _ don’t need _ either _ of you! Anyone comes after me, I’ll sock it to ‘em.” He boxed at the air with pale bony knuckles, a far cry from Hugo. Affected with the onset of puberty and ganglier than ever, the tween tripped over his own legs and slipped, falling to the icy sidewalk. In a perfect world, he’d be home next to Mom, taking a piano lesson or baking sugar cookies – not out on the streets, excited to pick up the slack for policemen or secret agents.

Shilo’s fist curled in her pocket, palm growing warm around her refilled prescription. Her other hand reached down to grab one of Milo’s as he stuck both of his up in the air, expectantly waiting for a sibling on either side to grab hold. Shilo was glad Hugo released her to take Milo’s other hand, and while she would have been happy to drag her little brother through the slush, her big brother spoiled the fun by lifting him to his feet with ease.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just going to the mall,” she swore. “I’ll be home by three.”

“That’s what you said last time,” noted Milo, ambling along next to her. At least his tiny body put something between her and Hugo now. “Dad made dinner! Do you know what he _ made?” _

“Fishcakes,” she sighed, nodding. She’d barely choked down the cold leftovers that night when she snuck in at six in the evening. Anyway, 6:00PM wasn’t _ that _ late. Back when she still visited her best friend at her house down the street, she used to come home at a quarter to nine, if at all. But that was before Lady Fate came to Go City. Now that she had a superpower and could defend herself better than ever, it made an early curfew pretty silly.

Shilo opened her mouth to argue when a fluttering past her head made her duck and topple into her spindly little brother. A curse nearly escaped her lips as she locked her eyes on the offending – pigeon? – flapping away to join its flock in a skeletal snowy elm at the corner. In the past month, she’d had a lot of things hurled her way, and it was becoming second nature to dodge at the faintest sign of a projectile. So her heart hammering in her chest was justified as Milo shoved her away.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose when a nasally voice behind them called, “Excuse me?”

Hugo turned, even though Shilo grabbed Milo and kept towing him along. “Can I help you, sir?” asked her big brother to the civilian behind them. Shilo clenched her jaw. Didn’t they have a rule? Don’t talk to strangers. Not outside of uniform, anyway. It wasn’t conducive to keeping a secret—

“You’re Team Go. Right?”

Shilo whipped around to lock her eyes on the stranger, freezing on the spot.

Milo on the other hand bounced free of her grip. She grabbed for him again, but he’d bound up to Hugo’s side to proudly announce, “Yes! Yes, we are.”

Hugo cuffed him on the shoulder, and just about threw him into a snowdrift by doing so had he not caught him in his other paw. “I’m – we are not,” corrected Hugo in a practiced statement. “But maybe _ I _can help you?”

The man stood in a grungy old parka trimmed with a collar of white, stained and weathered. He wrung his hands, duct-tape mending the holes in his leather gloves. “I’m Dr. Robinson,” he introduced, and struck out a hand to shake. The grimy man didn’t _ look _ like a doctor. He wasn’t one of Global Justice’s anyway.

Hugo didn’t take the hand and he most certainly didn’t give his name. It was probably the smartest thing he’d done all day. “Pleasure,” he said, and repeated once more, firmly, “Can I help you?”

The man’s beak-like nose pointed at them all in turn. Shilo’s stomach twisted as it was aimed in her direction for a millisecond too long, and she stepped forward to take her place between her brothers. The thin lips of the down-on-his-luck doctor, if he was even a doctor at all, split into a wide grin he quickly smothered. That was enough of a clue there was a screw loose. “Actually, I was thinking I could help you.”

“We’re good,” said Shilo, grabbing her brothers by the arms.

Hugo was unmovable. He crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed. _ “You. _ Help us? Do we look lost to you?”

_ “They _ might need help,” mumbled Milo. Shilo elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“I can – I have – you _ are _ Team Go!” Robinson insisted. “Aren’t you?” He sounded a little desperate.

Hugo had been about to steer them away when he shot a look back at the sketchy figure. “I told you, if you need help—”

_ “I _ don’t need help,” swore the prideful shivering man, his laugh wavering as he flapped his hands about and lurched forward. “I don’t need you. But you could really use me. I can – I’m like _ you, _ see?” He stuck out his hands as if to flip them the bird or show them his fingers. All ten digits were accounted for, but by the wild flick of his eyes as he waited for them to react, he had lost his marbles.

Eyebrows rose at Dr. Robinson. An exchange of glances, and Hugo and Milo burst into laughter. Dr. Robinson looked to his hands, all over himself, and up at them as something strange crossed his face. Disbelief, maybe. Disbelief that two young heroes were laughing at him.

“You can’t see it,” he muttered, sounding halfway out of his mind. “I-I have a gift like you!” he defended as the boys doubled over in infectious laughter. “You just can’t see it! You don’t have the eyes for it,” he squawked, voice shrill with desperation.

“Someone needs to come take Dr. Cuckoo back to the funny farm,” chortled Milo.

Hugo had a hard time reining it in. He thumped Milo so hard on the back that the boy fell into the snow again. “Get me a phonebook!” he guffawed. “We need to find this guy a _ shrink.” _

Milo looked up at Hugo from where he lay, beaming ear to ear, and a new wave of laughter shook him and brought him to tears.

Shilo shoved her big brother, but he didn’t budge. “Leave him alone, you guys.”

The balking man shrank back from them. “I’ll show you!” he squawked, as if it were a threat. He looked beyond them, a hand outstretched and fingers clawing the air in a vaguely _ come-hither _ motion, but nothing at all happened. He paled. He shook his head like a wet dog, greasy ginger hair splattering droplets of melted snow. Shilo backed out of range as the man ground out something animalistic she couldn’t decipher. His face twisted and he clawed at his features.

He looked undoubtedly crazy in that moment. He was probably on something, she decided.

She couldn’t complain when Hugo took her by the shoulders, pulling her back from the sketchy derelict tripping out. She caught Milo by the hood of his jacket as the three of them left the questionable individual to have a meltdown there on the snowy sidewalk.

**++X++**

By the time Shilo reached the mall, the cuckoo lunatic had been left behind along with the worries of _ Shego’s _ hero duties, if only for a little while. She peeked over her shoulder, casting a quick glance about for signs of her brothers she’d barely escaped from, before ducking behind the hedge and around the wall to the side of the shopping center where the average civilian had no business loitering.

She smelled her before she saw her. Debatably cooler than the snow around her and seemingly indifferent to the winter chill, a fair blonde leaned against the brick and mortar wall, pink mini skirt daringly short and snow-white stockings spotless. As Shilo sauntered up to the pink-clad girl, striving to match her flippant air, a cigarette was offered to her. She took a drag – she couldn’t _ not _ with Priscilla’s critical eyes surveying her – and licked her lips to taste the trace of Priscilla’s cherry lip gloss left on the filter.

Shilo fought against the urge to choke. She swallowed and kept her cool. “So. The usual?”

“Yeah. Why not,” said Priscilla between drags, and patted a fanny pack on her hip to jingle the change inside. “I won a bet with Mickey, so it’s on me.”

“What was the bet?” Shilo was handed the smoke again too soon, Prissy’s smirk egging her on. Unenthused but compliant, she took another puff as the mischievous girl grinned at her. She couldn’t help laughing back and coughing as she did so. It was a good excuse to drop the spent butt on the ground. _ “What?” _she snickered in demand and shook the girl’s shoulder. “Priss, what did you do?”

When her best friend since daycare made a sly gesture with hand and cheek, Shilo shoved her and stumbled away, an awkward bark of laughter erupting from her.

“That’s disgusting!” Shilo declared through her laugh. She wove her fingers behind her back to hide the unsettled burning in her palms as they walked back around toward the front. She grinned nonetheless, cheeks pinched as she failed to fight off a blush. “Don’t even joke like that.”

“Call it what you want, Shi. I call it easy money. It got me ten bucks.”

Priscilla was as proud and smug and comfortable in her own skin as ever. After the hectic year she’d had, Shilo’s gut twisted as she doubted she’d find that level of confidence. The extent of her experience on that front had been _ Seven Minutes in Heaven _ with Mickey at Priscilla’s thirteenth birthday party a few years back, and given the resulting locked braces, it wasn’t such a fond memory. And now with her new looks, boyishly short hair, and sickly pasty-pale skin, she was in no hurry to expand on that experience.

_ “Jeez,” _ muttered Shilo with a shake of her head. She got a grip on herself and glanced back to the cigarette butt smoldering in the snow. She stopped herself from wiping her mouth before she could smudge _ Shego’s _makeup, and kept her disbelief or disgust or whatever it was she felt to herself as they made for the mall arcade.

As per usual, ten dollars split between two players went quick. Just to extend their stay a little longer, Shilo forfeited some of her own hard-earned babysitting money to the machines.

She wasn’t complaining though. It was a scrap of normalcy she couldn’t find back home. Back home, there was no Mom, no cookies, no music, no joy – only phone calls for appointments with doctors and for interviews, toddlers who never stopped crying, and a father who drank too much these days. It was hardly home at all, and she was hardly even _ Shilo _ there anymore. She was just _ Shego, _ waiting on standby to be called upon for a hero emergency. Even her prohibited rendezvous with Priscilla felt too much like just going through the motions, but she refused to think of that.

Tickets were redeemed for a handful of cheap toys. Fake spiders and bouncy balls were thrown off the second-story to the level below, landing in the hair of unsuspecting passerby, or bounce-bounce-bouncing across the plaza to inevitably bounce out of sight, disappearing either into a shop or into the expensive indoor garden sporting a water feature at the heart of the mall.

Eventually a beer-bellied security guard walking toward them was their cue to scram.

The small rush paled in comparison to the adrenaline surges she’d have in the heat of battle over the past month, but it was enough to bring a smile to her face and feel _ normal. _ Shilo laughed along with Priscilla as they held each other’s hands, taking turns practically dragging the other as they made the dash for the far end of the mall.

Suddenly she was tugged aside and into a parlor. The parlor Shilo had her sights on was still several shops away and involved pizza, not piercings, but she humored Priscilla as the girl sought out the gaudiest hoops and filled her in on a spiel of flimflam about what was trendy at the school they once attended together.

It was a blow she wasn’t ready for, but Shilo tried to keep the smile on her face. They didn’t go to school together anymore. There had been years they didn’t share the same classes, but they’d always shared the same school – until now. Shilo was due to start private school clear on the other end of town soon, and Priscilla would go on attending in the local district. That alone was enough to feel like a guillotine had separated them – but Shilo shook her head and smiled at her reflection as Priscilla held up earrings featuring the eyes of peacock feathers to her ears, still pressing she should have them re-pierced.

With no extra cash for earrings, let alone even considering paying for piercings, Shilo wasn’t so sure about trying the old ice and needle trick again.

Her mouth stayed shut as Priscilla fidgeted with the rack of earrings, taking a nicer pair to hide in her sleeve. Shilo said nothing still as a hand smacked her on the butt, earrings slipped into her back pocket with a sleight of hand. She shot her friend an unhappy look through the mirror.

Priscilla coughed into her fist, _ “Wet blanket.” _

Shilo was soon casting a glance back as they left the parlor. A few shops away, Priscilla retrieved the earrings from Shilo’s back pocket. “These will look good on you,” she said decisively, brandishing the stolen item. “Don’t you think?”

The tag sporting a pair of green rhinestone earrings was deposited in her hand. “Yeah,” said Shilo, pushing the evidence back out of sight into her pocket. She scanned the crowd of shoppers, seeking out anyone in uniform, but even when her search came up empty, she couldn’t relax. The best of GJ’s spies didn’t stand out anyway.

They finally made it to the food court. Shilo pulled out her change and counted nickels and dimes for a slice of pizza that once tasted like greasy cardboard but was now a delectable slice of heaven after the diet she’d been restricted to at the research center for the better half of the year.

Priscilla, with her bowl of chili cheese fries, criticized her for her choice in grub as she joined Shilo at a table. She showily unzipped her jacket, letting her crop top show for all to see, like she was really all that. Still, Shilo pulled into herself just a little, fixing her eyes down on the pizza that had gone cold while waiting for her friend. She was sweltering hot, but she zipped her own coat up a little tighter. She couldn’t go around showing off her skin like that anymore. Her sickly complexion attracted enough stares, and she didn’t need to be recognized as _ Shego _ for her pallid green skin alone.

Shilo had taken all of two bites, more focused on digesting the gossip around school and the neighborhood than she was on eating, when Priscilla licked her fingers suggestively and Shilo had to look back down again.

“Eleven o’clock,” said Priscilla, plucking up another chili-saturated crimp-cut fry. Shilo raised her brow in question, and Priscilla rolled her eyes. _ “My _ eleven,” reiterated her friend, and a chili cheese fry was used as a pointer before being scarfed down. “Don’t look now, but there’s a total creep checking you out.” If _ anyone _ was looking their way, it sure wasn’t because of Shilo.

“What?” she blurted and looked anyway. She didn’t find anyone staring at her, but she did see something just familiar enough to catch her eye: a raggedy parka and a head of dirty red hair.

It was the raving lunatic from earlier. He was counting change in the palm of his hand. Looking to menus. Checking his pockets and finding a hole.

The mall food court wasn’t the best place to find a meal on a budget, but Shilo turned back to her pizza, choosing not to think too hard on it. Where the beak-nosed man chose to scrounge a meal was none of her concern.

Except, now it sort of _ was. _ It was _ Shego’s _ concern. An oath to protect and aid the citizens of Go City and adjacent towns had been sworn on live television for thousands to see just a few short weeks ago. She’d been given a crash course on emergency aid, combat, and etiquette in preparation for her introduction as a guardian of the public.

She hadn’t needed a whole lot drilling to be told to be a _ Good Samaritan, _ even if she’d protested the extremes the supervising agency wanted her to go to. Shego had a reputation, but she wasn’t Shego right now. She was Shilo, and Shilo’s best friend was giving her a funny look at she stood.

It was no big deal. She had some leftover change in her pocket. Enough for something more substantial than an overpriced plain corndog she could see Robinson settling for as he stepped toward a counter.

**++X++**

By the time the sketchy man sat down at their table, he’d already blathered a bit about himself, as if in an attempt to put her at ease and make up for the poor first impression. He dealt with exotics, namely wildlife, so he claimed. The winged world was Dr. Robinson’s specialty, and he’d devoted his life to rescuing and rehabilitating birds of all kinds, from condors to hummingbirds. A glimpse at scars decorating his arms stood testimony, carved into him from beaks and claws of every size, worn like badges of honor.

“So…you’re a veterinarian?”

_ “Was,” _ corrected Dr. Robinson, and corrected himself again. “I-I mean. I’m qualified! I just…don’t have my office anymore.”

Across from Shilo, Prissy Priscilla heaved a sigh and leaned heavily on her fist. For the first time since the scruffy panhandler sat down at their table, she spoke, wondering, _ “Now _what do you do?” Shilo knew better than to believe her friend was genuinely interested. It was merely a dig at an exposed sore spot.

Dr. Robinson was quiet for a moment before answering, “I’m in between jobs,” in between bites of chili cheese fries. Prissy had forfeited the snack to him after claiming she was on a diet anyway.

Shilo relaxed only slightly. He was just a veterinarian. There was a distinction between a mere animal vet and the _ doctors _ that had poked and probed her and studied her for weeks – _ months _ – on end in the name of science and the greater good.

It was no surprise Priscilla didn’t share the same concerns. After all, _ she _ hadn’t been quarantined after the incident back in April. She was eyeballing the man, relaxed and critical, not leery or suspicious as Shilo was, and not even a crowd of shoppers to eavesdrop deterred her from asking aloud, “You got bud? You stink like it.”

Before Shilo could kick her under the table to silently reprimand her for going around saying rude things or inquiring on illegal substances so openly, Dr. Robinson scooted his chair back. His eyes flickered from Prissy to Shilo and back. He was in no rush to voice a reply.

“She can keep a secret,” promised Priscilla on Shilo’s behalf, lowering her voice. “Right, Shi?”

“I…I _ do not _ have any _ on hand,” _ said the man carefully, withdrawing the tray of fries with him.

Priscilla puffed. “Well, you’re old, right?” she said. Shilo almost kicked her again, but she must have known it was coming, because her boot met open air.

Robinson frowned. “I’m only thirty—,” he began indignantly.

“Perfect,” said Priscilla with a smile.

Shilo couldn’t say she agreed with Priscilla’s newfound interest in the man or the ploy she was weaving. If she had a choice, she’d choose not to be part of it, but as things were, she didn’t have much of a say in the matter – because Prissy would do what Prissy pleased, and whether Shilo tagged along was up to her own moral code, which at the moment was a grey area. She couldn’t just leave her best friend to venture off with a strange man alone without someone to back her up.

Dark snow clouds made it impossible to see the sun setting, but it was growing ever darker by the minute as they left the mall, a clear indicator it was past curfew and high time she head home to fix dinner and prepare for a grand countdown on live television tonight – but Priscilla was pushy and always got her way, grabbing Shilo by the hand to insist she not be a spoilsport. The thought of leaving her alone with the shifty man made her stomach twist, so she yielded easily to the pressure and let Prissy pull her after the guy.

A tobacco store was soon located, and while Prissy was getting her latest nicotine fix, unabashedly chain-smoking away as they waited around the corner of yet another shop they legally had no business with, Shilo had to whisper over to wonder why they were still following Dr. Robinson. The man had just left them a second time to run inside the liquor store to make another purchase with Priscilla’s cash.

_ “Psh. _ Because he’s _ cool?” _ answered Prissy under her breath. She held up the cigarette as though it were proof, and passed it over.

Shilo took a hesitant drag, but couldn’t help shuddering to think of where Prissy’s lips may have been just hours ago. Whispered chatter and answers to questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask in the first place were interrupted soon enough by Dr. Robinson’s return.

“Cool,” praised Prissy, inspecting the label on the bottle she was presented with. Shilo recognized the brand as something her own father drank. The sight of hard liquor in her friend’s hands made her insides writhe.

“Well. I’ll see you girls around,” said the nervous man as he began to retreat into the shadows of the alleyway. It had begun to snow again, and it seemed to concern him as he glanced skyward. “I really must be getting home.”

“I thought you were homeless?” blurted Priscilla, already following him before Shilo could make a grab for her. “I’ve got a garage you can crash in if you need it.” Surely she just wanted to squeeze more favors out of him in return for her pocket change.

“Oh, no. I have an apartment. Not far from here.” Nerves flashed in his eyes as Priscilla sauntered toward him. “There’s no – it’s – it’s really no place for girls like you. It’s condemned, you see—”

Prissy sounded giddy as she grinned and giggled, “Sounds creepy. That where you keep the goods, Robby?”

_ “Priss!” _ Shilo called, still standing cemented to the spot where she’d been left.

Her best friend shadowing the scruffy man paused and glanced back just as she’d been about to grab his arm. “What?” she asked back, smiling innocently. “Too good for a little fun now? Is that it? Don’t be a drag, Shi.”

Shilo glanced back toward the street, and back to Priscilla slowly backing away toward Robinson as the man retreated. “We need to head home,” she insisted.

_ “I _ don’t have a curfew,” scoffed Priss. “You can go home if you’re so afraid of the dark.”

It wasn’t the dark she was afraid of. Most of the criminals she’d dealt with so far didn’t care what time it was. But leaving Priscilla alone with a strange man wasn’t happening. Shilo at least had a means of defending herself and others too, and if anything bad happened because she left Prissy alone with some creepy exiled veterinarian, she’d never be able to live with herself.

So for the sake of her best friend, she followed.

Shilo knew they didn’t belong there the moment they entered Robinson’s neck of the woods. She had a hunch Priscilla knew as well. Her best friend began to look nervous for a change as they ventured deeper into the sketchy neighborhood.

The uneasy girl even reached across in an attempt to hold Shilo’s hand, as she used to when they were in a rough area – but after an accidental _ zap, _ kept them to herself. Alienated by her own alien fire, Shilo did the same, keeping her fingers safely tucked in her armpits and accepting the chill in the gap between her and her best friend. If she didn’t get a grip on Lady Fate’s _ gift _ soon, the organization overseeing her underaged superhero team might insist she wear “fire-proof” gloves full time, for the safety of those around her, like Priscilla.

Priscilla didn’t seem terribly concerned for her own safety though, considering how willing she was to follow the strange man through the driving snow. They were led further from home with each step they took, and it was indisputably past sundown when Robinson cut into a dead-end alley.

He waved for them to follow him into the dark niche, out of view of potential witnesses. If it weren’t for the blanket of white snow, it might have been too dark to see anything at all. It didn’t make the rickety old fire escape the man gestured to any more welcoming though.

“It’s. Up here,” he said through chattering teeth, and breathed on his hands, still bound up in soggy worn gloves. He strained to smile, barely visible in the dark, and tried to jokily add, “This would be so much easier if one could fly.”

Shilo unfolded her arms and cast a glance up and down the street. There was no one coming from either direction. This man and her best friend already knew her secret. There was no harm in lighting up a hand to let some of the energy burn off. If anything, it served as a warning for Robinson, and might cause the ankle bracelet to _ ping _ for Global Justice to send out an agent to investigate or collect her for the unauthorized use.

She didn’t expect Priscilla to scoff at the sight of her green luminescence. Lip raised and eyes rolling, the girl turned her back to Shilo’s glow. Shilo recalled it, snuffing out the lantern-like plasma radiating and bubbling from her hand. She at least used the residual warmth in her palm to rub her other hand and return some feeling to her frozen fingers.

Her stomach twisted into a knot as she watched the tall man lift Priscilla up by the waist to aid in getting her footing on the hanging ladder above.

“You should wait down there, Shi,” called Priscilla through her exertion as she meticulously scaled her way up to the first landing. “Don’t think it’ll hold ya.”

Shilo said nothing. It was a dig at her feather-light weight. It wasn’t hard to see she was still on the scrawny side, still recovering from her bad experience at a research facility that had allegedly been shut down. Knobby bones, gaunt features barely filling out, and pants that needed help staying up on her hips wasn’t a good feeling, but she was making progress day by day. Personal trainers had been helping her recondition with diet and exercise, but she still felt like a shadow of her past self. She really wasn’t fit yet to be out fighting criminals of any degree – not that any minor should be out doing such risky work in the first place.

Eyeing the man extending his grubby paws out toward her, she knew without a doubt she could at least take _ him _ on, glow or no glow. Before he could assist her, with or without asking, she leapt up as high as she could, catching a grip on the slippery bars and scrabbling with her feet as her hands melted the ice coating the metal. She climbed and clawed her way up after Priscilla as her friend stepped back, clapping slowly.

_ “Me-ow,” _ jibbed Prissy. “Where’s the catsuit?”

“It’s not a catsuit,” Shilo hissed. At least she hadn’t called her Team Go uniform a _ onesie _ again.

She felt the shake of the metal platform underfoot then, and shot a glance down to Robinson hefting himself up. He was tall enough he didn’t have to jump, but his upper body strength was unexpected as he hoisted himself up. Being cornered on a fire escape wouldn’t concern Shilo so much if she was alone, but Priscilla was already climbing precariously higher.

Several stories up was a broken window, fully kicked in to allow safe entry. Snow blew in after them as they trespassed into the condemned building. The man’s so-called _ apartment _ exceeded expectations – at least in terms of how decrepit and dilapidated it was. Robinson might have known his way around in the dark, and Priscilla might have made a show of rolling her eyes about it, but Shilo lit the way with her radium-green plasma as there were no working utilities. Still, water could be heard dripping as if they were walking through a cave system, and filthy icicles hanging like stalactites in places didn’t bode well. Graffiti decorated the walls, some partly obscured by the mold and stains. Rats could be heard squeaking and scurrying about out of sight.

Shilo was barely glad Robinson led the way because the last thing she needed was his malodorous breath on the back of her neck to urge her onward. She had to continuously remind herself that the only reason she was following him at all was to keep herself between him and her friend.

Up a multitude of staircases and finally through a door that had been busted off its hinges, and Dr. Robinson sighed hugely and spread his arms abruptly, making Shilo jump back and snap out an arm to stop Priscilla in her tracks.

“Home sweet home!” he announced. _ “Mi casa es su casa.” _ He ducked around the wall, and a dim orange light flickered on with the hiss of propane, and then he was popping back into view, shuffling away into the dark depths of the cluttered room. “Top floor. You’re welcome to come meet my friends up on the roof, if you’d like. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late with dinner.”

Robinson was already heading for another staircase, grabbing a sack of birdseed off a shelf as he went. A door opened at the top, a gust of freezing air and a few snowflakes blew in, and then he was gone.

The moment they were left alone, Shilo shook her hand as if to put out a match, and she turned to Priscilla. “We shouldn’t be here,” she stated. It was true. It had to be true – because what teenage girl _ should _ be hanging around with some creepy thirty-whatever year old homeless man squatting in a condemned building?

“No way,” Priscilla protested, holding up the bottle of booze and cracking it open. “This guy’s cool.”

Their definitions of _ cool _ had seriously diverged over the past year. Shilo grabbed the neck of the bottle and pulled it down before Prissy could take a gulp. “You can get high at home. This isn’t worth it,” she pressed. She shouldn’t have even had to say so.

Prissy cracked a grin then and jerked the bottle away, taking a defiant swig anyway. The alcohol looked like it tasted bitter. “I’m exploring my options,” she said nonchalantly. “This guy might be able to hook me up with a little more. Y’never know.” She shrugged. “If he can, you’ll try it with me, won’t you?”

Shilo gawped, rendered just short of speechless. _ “No!” _ she blurted, the answer one of pure reflex.

The bleached-blonde’s mischievous smile vanished, replaced by a frown. _“God, _Shi. Don’t be a prude,” she hissed, shoving Shilo’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me that goodie-two-shoes shit has gotten to you?”

It had and it hadn’t. She was being pressured into the lifestyle with ultimatums, and there was a new code of conduct she had to follow, but even if she _ didn’t _ have to save face as an up-and-coming superhero, what Prissy was asking was still out of the question. Otherworldly gifts and an outrageous double-life had nothing to do with her resolve to get out of Robinson’s shabby niche of the city.

“That’s not it,” Shilo argued. “I have responsibilities! I have to get home for dinner, and get ready to go on air tonight for the countdown, and—,” she was interrupted before she could go over the entire list of reasons she couldn’t stay – why _ they _ shouldn’t stay.

“If you’re too busy to be my friend anymore, _ just say so, _ Shilo.” The words stung, but they were second to Priscilla’s dark eyes boring into her like a stake to the heart.

She reeled then, but Priscilla caught her wrist before she could step back. She was drawn into a sudden hug, Prissy’s arms nearly crushing the breath out of her in a hold that didn’t feel so great. It was a far cry from the buoyant girlish embraces they used to bounce and crash into when they were seven, ten, twelve, _ a year ago _ – and Shilo’s stomach twisted into a knot now as newfound reservations made her pause to peer over her best friend’s shoulder to check her hands for warning signs of igniting before letting her own arms loop around the girl to squeeze her back. Prissy didn’t stay long enough.

Cold sticky lips pressed to Shilo’s cheek, the ginger kiss devoid of affection. “If you need me to disappear from your life, I can do that for ya,” was _ not _ what she needed her best friend to whisper in her ear.

The arms around her slipped away, leaving Shilo bewildered and cold and hugging herself as she reluctantly let the girl withdraw from the hug. Priscilla spun around on her heel then to trot off after the shabby creep up the creaky staircase and onto the roof. A momentary cold gust blew in again, chilling Shilo to the bone.

Her throat was too thick to swallow, much less call after her friend to tell Priscilla she was being too melodramatic. The girl was the sort for theatrics – but the past month since Shilo had been home, things had been indisputably different. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed. She knew Priscilla’s fake smiles when she saw them, knew when Prissy was kidding around, knew when she was overreacting. She knew her best friend. And she knew her well enough to know she’d just made neither an offer nor a threat.

It was a promise.

Shilo didn’t even feel her legs move when she lurched forward suddenly. She flew up the steps and just about kicked the door open, her heart hammering as she burst out onto the snowy rooftop. She whirled around, scanning the white-blanketed surroundings as icy wind blew through her, a flurry of snowflakes breezing past the hems of her jacket to sting her burning skin.

Dr. Robinson was spotted beside a shack-like structure, chattering and gesticulating to himself. The bottle of liquor in his hand made her stomach churn and she scanned the snow for signs of tracks that lead to the parapet, but there were none, as far as she could see. He cocked an eyebrow as she stalked toward him, fists glowing.

“Where’s Priss?” she demanded, stepping past him to take a look inside the stinking little rooftop shed. There was nothing but racks and cubby holes to be found inside, filled with dozens of sleeping and cooing pigeons.

“Your friend? I haven’t seen her,” said Robinson. “But I can help you _ look.” _

“Bullshit.” Shilo whipped around to face him, her eyes drawn to the liquor in his grip. “She just came up here. Who were you talking to?” Her voice was rising. Frantic sparks of green energy were jumping from her fingers. She clenched her fists tight again.

“My pigeon,” Robinson answered, sweeping a small white dove off the nearest roost outside the coop. The symbol of peace, white as the falling snow, perched serenely on his finger. His smile was less white, less peaceful, as he offered a reasonable explanation, “It’s dark inside. Maybe your friend slipped past you.”

Shilo was backing away now, blinking and reeling, if not a little dazed. She scanned the rooftop once more, hardly hearing his offer again to help her look as she circled the one and only thing her best friend could possibly be hiding behind, but the girl was nowhere to be found. No tracks in the snow lead to the edge to indicate foul play.

With the cold of desertion sinking in, Shilo didn’t waste her breath calling for a friend who clearly didn’t want to hold a friendship any longer. At what point her shoulders fell in defeat and she traced the path back through the dark condemned high-rise, she wasn’t sure, but it came shortly after the threat of tears welled up.

She was freezing and soaked from head to toe by the time she trudged home to her own neighborhood, crushed and hours past curfew. She was already late, but stopping by her best friend’s house on the way to ask if she was home hadn’t helped anything. She’d worn a fake smile and everything – but as promised, the girl had vanished. It felt that way anyway, when the girl’s parents refused to answer the door. Unsurprising, as they’d made it clear weeks ago that they didn’t want her around once they’d learned of her tracking anklet and supposed probation, as if _ she _ was the bad influence or some kind of criminal now.

Given everything that had turned her life upside down the past year, questioning if the girl ever existed at all really was the last thing she needed.

What she _ needed _ was to forget about the empty space left by the stake yanked out of her heart like a massive thorn, and her numb fingers and toes, and her stuffy nose, and the scolding she’d received the second she came walking through her front door.

Discarding sodden slush-covered clothes to the hamper, Shilo reached into every pocket, as per habit, to empty them. A few pennies, a soggy receipt, a plastic spider, shoplifted rhinestone earrings – something was missing. Heart beginning to thud a desperate beat as her hands grew warm, Shilo turned each pocket inside out to be sure.

Shego’s suppressant medication had gone missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be returning to the regular linear timeline. uwu  
<s>(P.S. comments give me life and motivation to update.)</s>


	27. Aura of Others – 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice! This chapter picks up the scene where **Ch25 Welfare Check** left off.  
Ya, it's a short one, ya, it's fluffy (I think so anyway), but it leads into things. Not exactly romantic things, but we'll get there.  
There’s a reference to _[Bad is Good and Good is Bad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227300/chapters/47936842)_ (a precursor to this fic) in this chapter, so maybe check that out if you haven’t yet.  
Chapter art at the end~ ;3  
  


Drakken smirked back at her for a moment, until she wiped her own smile off her face. His gaze hardened to somber stone then and turned down to the cutting board, and Shego had to wonder inwardly if he was imagining it was his competition’s fingers he was slicing through, given the newfound vigor with which he was chopping.

“We leave Friday,” he said decisively. “ASAP.”

Normally she’d be inclined to pluck a slice of pepper from the board and pop off something like, _“What’s the rush?”_ but instead she crossed her arms and bit her lip to stifle a groan. “Mmm, no can do,” she regrettably informed. “Can it wait until Saturday?”

Drakken’s brow creased. “Why? Have a convenience store to rob, do you?” he shot.

She reached for the little paper in her pocket but stopped herself. Her hands were just beginning to spark – her nervous tell. She hid them under the countertop as she reigned it in. _“No,” _she snorted. “I have a date.” Though maybe angel boy wasn’t so innocent after all. Maybe he’d be down for a little burglary.

The sound of the knife chop-chop-chopping through veggies paused. From the corner of her eye, she could see him staring. Her stomach lurched – she didn’t want to look directly at him – but she shot a frown his way. “You have a problem with that, Doc?” she snipped after a moment.

His eyes snapped back down. “No. Not at all,” he said brusquely and spun around with the cutting board to focus on the stove instead. He flapped a dismissive hand. “Go hog wild. As long as it doesn’t interfere with what I have cooking.”

She watched his back as he worked, grabbing the olive oil and spices from the cabinet to throw in a pan, moving awkwardly as if determined to keep his back to her. She got the sense she wouldn’t be the only one keen on a change of subject. “What _are_ you cooking?” she lazily wondered. She meant to stay perched on the barstool. She didn’t mean to hop off and open up the fridge beside him or steal a glance at the pan.

He shrugged, eyes flickering as he threw a sidelong peek her way. _“Fajitas._ Do you like fajitas?”

“Better than fish tacos,” she mumbled under her breath.

Shego reached for a can of root beer but caught herself eyeing an elaborately marbled dessert sitting on the shelf below, protected by a sparkling glass lid. He either had a knack for it or he’d been working on his presentation, she mused to herself. She caught a distinct whiff of pumpkin. No wonder it smelled so sweet in the lair. Unbefitting for a villain as it was, her partner was unabashed as ever about his sweet tooth.

“Enough for a guest?” she piped wryly, ignoring the twist in her gut as she leaned back on the fridge to watch the rogue doctor’s frown give way to a strained smirk. For the moment, she focused on the relief that her family had left – which meant she could stick around for dessert.

With something _other_ than value-menu Chow in her stomach, plus an artfully-plated slice of sinfully decadent cheesecake to top it off, she was happier still to sink down in the soft corduroy cushions of Drakken’s couch that evening, hugging a throw pillow under her cheek. She was even content enough to sigh and say nothing in objection when the goober of a man eagerly tuned in to a Space Passage film on television.

The movie was tough to focus on. Shego barely followed, though her droopy fatigued stare straying off toward Drakken time and time again that may have been to blame. He sat slumped in his recliner nearby, absorbed in the franchise sci-fi flick and oblivious to her eyes continuously straying from the hunky Commander Cain. Eventually she tore her eyes away and shut them, nuzzling into the throw pillow and trying not to consider how much it smelled like him, staving off the smirk when the very idea infected her brain.

The room was mostly dark by the time her eyes opened again. The television was off, and only the lamp on the end table was left on to dimly light the den. There was a hand gripping her shoulder, and she turned her bleary eyes up at the dark shape of Drakken kneeling next to her. He smelled of booze again. He really shouldn’t have been leaning close enough she could smell it on his breath, but there he was, ballsy as ever when he’d had a bit to drink.

He swayed unsteadily before plopping over to sit on the floor, and just about melted against the edge of the couch. Shego scooted back a little bit as he rested his cheek on the cushion, his sickly-dark eyelids falling shut. “Why don’t you ever sleep in your own bed?” he grumbled to the corduroy.

She shifted, propping up on an elbow and rubbing her eyes to distract herself from how close his face had been. “Because I hate the springs,” she fibbed, and stifled a yawn. She didn’t want to admit that the mattress was one more bad night away from being completely unusable, if that. She slept better on the couch anyway.

The boozy man heaved a long sigh and hefted himself to sit in an _almost_ upright position. She might be inclined to lecture him if the drinking habit kept up. “I suppose you want a ride home now, hm?”

“You couldn’t ask _before_ you started drinking?” she groused. She bit back further chiding for now, giving a grimace and shake of her head. Even if he _was_ in a state to drive, she wouldn’t want to go. She wasn’t ready to be tempted so soon by an addictive sleep aid, one of the scarce few things that promised relief. Too bad it came with side effects. Sinking back down into the pillow, she grumbled, “Go to bed, Doc.”

Drakken grunted as he stood up on wobbly legs. “Yes, ma’am.” He spun toward her as he backed away, kicking the coffee table and nearly falling as he went, and Shego wondered if he even knew what he was saying as he gave an awkward bow and made an even more awkward offer. “Well, if you care to join – i-it’s fit for a king – I mean, um – there’s room. ‘Night!”

She stared as he quickly retreated, shuffling and tripping his way out of the room. She didn’t hear his door click shut, and she stared for an extra moment as she deciphered the invitation before her face flushed pink.

The whole point of crashing at the lair tonight was to escape the temptation of popping another special little pill. And the whole reason for the temptation in the first place was a lack of control over an accursed otherworldly gift she was still battling to tame.

So it didn’t make a lot of sense to sit up, kicking away the fleece throw blanket that had been courteously draped over her. Her eyes remained on the door tucked away in the niche, and she gripped her knees tight enough her nails dug through the denim. She drew a deep breath. She _wasn’t_ warm. _He_ didn’t make her warm. She inwardly repeated it like a mantra, even as she tugged the collar of her blouse, blowing down it in a futile effort to cool herself.

It didn’t make sense when she stood either, and it made _less_ sense to gravitate toward that door when she really should have been turning around and heading out the other to go home, or to her own room, or _something._

It was cracked – she’d expected that – but she didn’t expect herself to raise her knuckles to rap lightly and push it open. Curiosity reeled her in, hook, line, and sinker.

Like the den, Drakken’s bedroom was dark, save for a reading lamp perched on the shelf built into the headboard of the oversized bed, casting a warm yellow glow. She’d stolen a peek once before when the lights were on, weeks ago, and silky scarlet bedding indeed fit for a king had been alarming then, but the bedspread had since been replaced with something more suitable to the new season. She could barely see his shape beneath the puffy blue comforter, and she couldn’t help musing how small and lonely he looked in the huge bed. Fidgeting anxiously with the beads around her wrist, her feet carried her forward before she could think twice.

The spring water stream cutting through the room was like a clear line warning her not to come any closer. Shego paused at the edge as a distant sense of déjà vu echoed at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t help reaching for her throat.

There’d been a warning line before, years ago. He’d crossed it with zero regard, though it had been clearly painted across the floor of her chamber at the research facility, marking how close was too close to the volatile _subject _she’d been reduced to. Maybe she should have taken the trench as a similar warning.

She crossed it anyway.

But not before clipping off the stupid bracelet and stuffing in the pocket of her jeans. It hadn’t felt so much like jagged rocks digging to her wrist until now. It didn’t even feel right in her pocket, and she had half a mind to discard it in the flow of murky water.

Heat rose around her collar again, but each step closer had yet to feel like an outright mistake as she circled cautiously around to a vast open side of the bed.

Drakken lay bundled on his side, something fuzzy and brown tucked under his chin as he scratched away lazily in his little leather notebook. He licked a finger and flipped a page to start on another before Shego cleared her throat softly, and his heavy-lidded eyes cut up to her through the skewed glasses. The book snapped shut and was quickly tucked under his pillow, one of several heaped on his bed, all bearing miss-matched pillowcases in shades of blue or red or grey.

Shego took half a step back when he jerked upright, catching his spectacles before they could fall off his face. He fixed the glasses on his nose, jaw unhinged, and she tried not to stare back. The once-over he gave her didn’t help the rising warmth she had to steel herself against with a deep breath.

His mouth moved, and she didn’t catch what came out, but she was sure it was confused gibberish anyway.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously on him. The open space _was_ inviting, offering ample room to toss and sprawl. “Do you promise not to touch me?” she asked carefully. It shouldn’t be hard to keep to the edge. The size of the bed was absurd really, at least for someone so solitary.

She shouldn’t be considering.

Drakken both shook his head and nodded, and looked rather confused himself in that moment. He all but tore off his glasses then, folding them up and discarding them to the shelf, as if to willingly blind himself so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. “Ah…yes?” he practically croaked.

“Pinky swear?”

Without question, he raised a hand and stuck out his pinky, but retracted it and pursed his lips with a hum. “That would be touching you,” he said absolutely, sounding a little too straight-laced and polite for a guy wearing an old rock-n-roll shirt to bed.

“Good catch.” A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. Shego fidgeted, but the buttons of her blouse shouldn’t have been what she fidgeted with. “I’ll kick your ass if you do,” she added without the conviction to back up the threat, and bit her lip as she hoped he wouldn’t prove crossing the line to be a mistake. She hoped he was as blind as she suspected he was, but even if he wasn’t, she might not mind the gawping as long as he kept his end of the deal.

She didn’t know what she was thinking, because the sake of comfort couldn’t be the sole reason for shedding her layers. She was warm, sure, but she could ignore the fact as she smirked impishly at the alarmed stare snapping down to her waist as her fingers popped off the last button in question. She almost laughed when stark uncertainty dawned on the tipsy man and he bit down hard on his lip, completely frozen and holding his breath. No sooner had Shego stripped down to her camisole did he throw himself back down, back to her before he could witness her stepping out of her jeans as well.

She couldn’t say she was all that let down he’d lost the brazenness that seemed to come hand-in-hand with alcohol lately. She wasn’t terribly offended by the cold shoulder either. If anything, it came as a comfort, as she could breathe easier when she wasn’t being watched. She was pushing her luck already, and she didn’t need to cross anymore lines tonight. She’d gone far enough. If she could just withstand _this _without the drug, then she could withstand Friday night.

A deep breath to calm her nerves once more, and Shego slipped into the soft cushy bed and under the heavy cover. She tried not to think back on the unwelcome wakeup call she’d had the last time she’d nodded off somewhere she shouldn’t have. Staring at Drakken’s back well out of reach, she relaxed, convinced he wouldn’t prove this to be a mistake after all.

The inferno of alien fire raging to be let out died down and she felt a few degrees cooler as she unwound with remarkable ease. Maybe she was being just a little too trusting, but she’d grown foolishly comfortable with _this_ scientist over the past several weeks. She was banking on the rising villain to stay trustworthy.

Every blink stung, but rather than shutting them for good, her tired eyes strayed from Drakken’s back to the brown thing that had been discarded, forgotten on the sheets between them. She raised her brow but decided not to mention it until his own measured breathing had relaxed. By then, she couldn’t hold a small laugh back any longer. “You sleep with a _teddy bear?”_

By the level of irritation in the man’s harrumph, he’d nearly been asleep. She caught a glimpse of his purple face as he patted around behind himself for it, grumbling unhappily, “It was my dog’s.”

The room felt cold suddenly, which might have been a welcomed sensation if she were at home battling the resolve not to pop a pill. The thought of Drakken all alone in the great big bed crossed her mind again, and she tried to imagine him in the lab with a dog around to remind him to take a break for fresh air and a walk. She kept her mouth shut about the little memento, muttering instead, “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“Yes, well, there are a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

“But I _could_ know them,” she whispered over, watching his shoulders tense. She wriggled a bit to get comfortable, and maybe a couple inches closer. “What kind of dog?”

Drakken deflated with a long weary sigh. “He’s…_was_ a beagle.”

She decided not to press it further. Now was the time for sleep, not for idly chitchatting like middle-schoolers at a sleepover. She was ready to shut her eyes, but suddenly Drakken shifted and her heavy lids snapped back open as he reached for the lamp. “Leave it on,” she blurted.

“Why?”

“Because – um.” She zipped her lips. _Because_ she didn’t want to be sitting in the dark, with pinpricks of her nerves standing out like stars in the night. But wasn’t that why she was lying here anyway? To challenge her nature? She didn’t need him accusing her of being afraid of the dark. That would only worsen her condition and get her wound up again. “Nevermind. Whatever. Hit it.”

And the room went dark, save for the red glow of the digital alarm clock on the shelf.

As her eyes adjusted, she heard the shuffle and felt the slight shift across from her, still safely out of reach. He’d turned to face her now, the faint glint of light shining off his lenses indicating he’d donned his spectacles again. Nerves fluttered back to fan the alien fire at the thought that maybe he only needed the dark to get gutsy again. His pensive hum didn’t help. She was ready to snap at him to take a picture, it would last longer.

“You’ve got freckles?”

“What—”

“Like radium,” said Drakken between yawns. “Radium freckles.” No doubt about it, he was looking at her.

She wanted to roll over and bundle up so he couldn’t see any of her skin whatsoever, but she couldn’t even tuck a stray arm under the cover, momentarily frozen. She didn’t need to glance at herself to know the little pinpricks of plasma were firing off. Even her breath felt hotter now, the more she tried to restrain it. She shifted, hugging herself and rubbing a bare arm as if she could rub away the pinpoints of plasma looking for an exit. She wished for a fleeting second that she had the damn bottle of pills handy after all.

“Doesn’t it freak you out?” she wondered a little too crossly.

“Nah,” Drakken grunted. “It’s rather pretty. Dangerous things tend to be.”

Her brow furrowed. It was reassuring, and comforting, and it made her warm in the worst way – but it was midnight. It was time to shut up. So she grabbed one of the many pillows piled up and threw it in the general vicinity of his head. “Go to sleep, Doc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	28. Aura of Others – 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This arc is for introducing some faces around them.  
Everyone's got their problems to contend with~

She knew the morning was off to a good start when a scream followed the frantic beeping of an unfamiliar alarm clock, and she cracked her eyes open in time to see a familiar blue someone flail and tumble out of bed. She was glad the lamp was on so she could catch the spectacular fall from grace.

She barely kept the laugh to herself as the startled man picked himself up, staring at her wide-eyed over the edge of the bed. Panic-stricken and stammering, he welcomed her to sleep in for another half hour, or an hour, or all day if she pleased, but she had to decline no matter how tempting. She had places to be, unfortunately.

The second Drakken excused himself hastily to his own private bathroom, she threw back the sheets to check for any sign of burnt fiber. She was pleasantly surprised and gave herself a pat on the back for making it through the night without incident, even as her face burned as she quickly dressed. She hoped the gambler wouldn’t push his luck next time either – and then banished the thought from her mind. There wouldn’t _be_ a next time. This was a one-time occurrence. A simple test of will.

She had the feeling she was lying to herself as she wore another of Drakken’s sweaters to Buckley’s to hide the fact she hadn’t exactly changed out of yesterday’s outfit. And she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone else either when he was the first customer of the day, smiling pleasantly as she served him joe to go. When he turned to leave, Shilo had to tear her stare away from the green elastic band holding the ponytail he’d taken the time to neatly put up himself.

Eyes of future-henchgirls drove daggers into her back. She heard the low voice of Buckley in the kitchen muttering to Chester, but couldn’t make out what she rumbled. No doubt something displeased, and Shilo was sure it was about her. If it weren’t for the generous tip Drakken slipped into the jar, the baker might have said – or done – something to him to chase him off.

As it were, Drakken was in no hurry to leave, courteously holding a door open for a blithe young man with a pep in his step that made Shilo’s blood run cold before inciting the dreaded fire once again.

She felt suddenly far too small for the sweater hung around her. If only she could disappear into it. If only it wouldn’t be so childish to duck behind the counter to make Gail take the order. It was too late for hiding now anyway.

Ignoring Drakken lingering at the open door was just as hard as looking up at the next customer. She forced a smile for the increasingly familiar boy beaming back at her, and she warmed over as if standing in a sunray from heaven. She couldn’t say she liked it, but she couldn’t say she didn’t either.

“I, um. H-hey—,” she clamped her mouth shut and gave a small cough to clear her throat. She tried again before Abigail could shove her aside to take over, and managed to utter a coherent greeting the second time. “What can I get you, angel boy?”

Angel boy smothered his grin and glanced to the case. “Caramel latte and a cinnamon roll to go today, please,” he answered promptly as if he’d rehearsed it. If he was uneasy, he disguised it well.

It would have been an easy enough task if she weren’t aware of Drakken still standing in the doorway, watching with unnerving interest. She almost spilled the latte when she handed it over. As she fumbled with the register, she caught a glimpse of the felon pointing at the angel boy, almost as if aiming a finger-gun at his back.

Drakken’s raised brow and inquiring gesture didn’t help the heat spreading across her face or building in her chest. She was eager to get them _both_ out of the shop. She even considered calling for Buckley to scare the rogue doctor away, at the very least.

For as much as he stared and beamed at her, angel boy didn’t seem to notice the peeks she shot past him, or the dismissive flick of her wrist in a vain attempt to shoo Drakken off. She didn’t need to squirm under the analytical stare of a rogue scientist when she was already caught in the radiance of an angel boy, and she was all the more convinced she needed to get a grip on herself and Lady Fate’s gift.

“Hope to see you soon,” said angel boy warmly as he left, but Shilo could only spare the tiniest wave in goodbye before hiding her hands behind the counter once more.

Dr. Drakken was still rooted in place, continuing to hold the door open and let the heat out. The young man cast a perturbed glance up at him and another glance over his shoulder to Shilo before going on his merry way. It took Drakken another moment of standing there, watching the blond depart, before he turned his eyes back to Shilo. She tried to ignore the arch of his brow or the smile that split across his face.

“Interesting,” he piped, grinning smugly her way. Her face burned and she had to wring her hands under the counter to snuff out the heat in her palms. “I didn’t take you for a _nervous Nellie.”_

A small hand curled around Shilo’s shoulder. Abigail was a fraction of Buckley’s size, but with a little genetic manipulation and training, she could one day compare to the role model. She’d taken lessons from her, and must have been able to replicate the baker’s sneer perfectly because Drakken took a step back out the door when Gail curtly snapped at him, “There something wrong with your order, sir? No? Then get outta here. No loitering.”

Effectively told off, Drakken left with haste.

Later that day, when Shilo was at last relieved of duty for the afternoon, she almost made a beeline for the lair, compelled to chew out the man for stirring trouble with her at Buckley’s Brew, which had lived up more to its unscrupulous underground name of _Jackass Joe’s_ on this fine day. Between customers, she’d suffered critical glares, poking, prodding, elbowing, and snide comments like _two-timer_ and _skank._ On an average day, she could take every name in the book in stride, but it hadn’t made getting through _this_ day easier when she was already fighting to put out the hellfire stoked by an angel.

She hadn’t made it far before the chill in the air wicked away the heat, and she breathed easier than she had all day. A misty drizzle fell, and she was convinced to go home instead when she missed the bus. She had better things to do than get herself worked up over a smug man who found her plight _interesting._

Better things, such as going home and sweeping up the glass she’d left scattered across her bathroom floor.

When Shilo entered her dingy apartment, she jumped, spying a large rat dart behind the fridge. Swearing aloud, she raised a hand, drawing up energy into her palm, and readied a blast fit for a rodent as she shoved the fridge back. The vermin disappeared through a hole chewed in the drywall before she could take the shot.

The ball of plasma still crackled in her palm, bubbling and dripping, and Shilo found herself unable to recall the glow still desperate for an exit. It was abnormal, but not the first time she’d been faced with the predicament, and it was an unwelcome reminder she didn’t have as much control of it as she wished she did.

She realized as she washed the sizzling alien fire down the sink that she hadn’t done much to relieve herself of the bottled energy lately. She stared into the sink, hoping that washing plasma down it wouldn’t make the pipes any leakier, and optimistically added to herself that maybe it would unclog the drain.

She mulled it over while cleaning the neglected bathroom. With no glass door to hide behind anymore, the special prescription stared her down from its perch on the shelf in the medicine cabinet. She considered, between the lack of suppressant and lack of an outlet, maybe she was spilling over. Could she overflow? She knew she could get riled up and overcharge – there was even emergency protocol for that – but she couldn’t recall a time she’d ever gone more than a week without throwing a few plasma balls for target practice at the very least.

Rubbing her throbbing head, she tried to recall the last time she’d let loose at all. She’d used her glow as a light source a few nights ago on the way home from Vegas, but that was a low-level energy release with hardly any power behind it and no heat to the flame. She’d worked on hand-to-hand combat with the henchmen, but she’d played fair. The last time she could remember really giving her glow the slightest workout was the day Drakken gave her the new gloves. That had been _weeks_ ago.

Bathroom clean enough to stand barefoot in again, she was dressing down to settle in for the evening when she emptied the pockets of her jeans out of habit. The bracelet and note she pulled out nearly caught fire – and she once again found herself unable to extinguish it without a little help.

This time she was rinsing the plasma down the bathroom sink though, and this time the suppressant was staring her in the face. She’d circumvent it if she could. And she would. She had to – because relying on the medication would only hamper her, and that just wasn’t happening anymore. It would only put her under GJ’s thumb and at their mercy.

Shilo forgot about her PJ’s waiting for her on the bathroom counter and dressed into a new pair of jeans, one of her _own_ sweaters, and the slicker jacket, and headed out the door into the rainy evening.

She had energy to burn off.

It was only a hunch, but it was worth a shot. Besides, she had to _try,_ or she might never make it through a date with an angel boy capable of thwarting her self-control and setting her on fire with a single look.

So she skulked through the rain as the twilight fell, her feet carrying her to a bridge over the river that ebbed and flowed like the tide. She cast a look around before stepping over the guardrail into a prohibited area of the canal, pushing her way through branches and bushes on her descent down the muddy slope to find flat ground beneath the bridge.

The river was a safe enough target. It swallowed each blast, the green blobs of molten plasma gulped up by the muddy water. Steam rose, and not just from the water, but from herself as well. She soon shed her slicker and her sweater, and she briefly considered that she might have been better off wearing her gear out here, but it was a little late in the evening to go back for it now.

She only stopped when she heard a vehicle stop on the bridge above. She realized, with a sudden frigid wave of dread, that a fogbank was flowing out from the downstream end of the bridge. It was sure to have caught some eyes.

Heaving for breath, she held her fire – and was glad she could finally recall it – as she pressed to the wall and waited for the curious witness to leave. When they didn’t move along, she held her breath and listened for a car door. Something. _Anything._

The warmth burned down her arms again, and she was second-guessing if she really had her alien fire back under control after all – when finally she heard wet tires rolling. But the vehicle didn’t go far. She heard the engine cut, a door, and soon heard the squelching of footsteps coming down the muddy bank.

If it was an officer coming to investigate, her things were simply too far away to risk diving forward and grabbing. She’d be seen for sure. So she bolted the other direction, hooking around the wall and glancing back under the bridge before staring miserably up the embankment thick with vegetation above her.

Passing through it silently was hopeless, but she did her best, glad the recent rains had at least saturated the sticks and leaves enough to soften the sound of her slippery passage.

She ducked as she reached the top, fully expecting an officer or two, or at least a police cruiser – and felt her face heat when she saw the furthest thing from it.

An old brown station wagon with a taped-up back window was parked on the side of the road.

And behind her down the hill, someone was clearing his throat.

“You know there’s a flash flood advisory, don’t you?” Dr. Drakken called up at her, although he was the one presently standing in the danger zone by the water’s edge. He held her abandoned sweater and slicker draped over an arm. He nodded to the fogbank rolling slowly downriver and added, “Lovely work, by the way.”

“What are you doing here?” she snipped down at him as he began the awkward climb up the overgrown slope after her.

“Errands,” he answered curtly. That was hard to believe when he had henchmen to run errands for him.

“What kind of errands?”

Drakken shook his head in exasperation and snorted. “Must I tell you everything?”

_“Yes.”_

Halfway up the slope, he paused and looked up from watching his footing. Shilo didn’t like his silence, and she had the feeling the awkward reply, “Post office,” was little more than a bluff if not a total lie.

“Have you been spying on me again?” she pressed when he reached her at the top.

“Wh—nngg! _No!”_ he sputtered, his face turning a funny shade she knew wasn’t from the nippy weather. She might have liked to see him flustered and choking on words if she weren’t still skeptical he wasn’t lying to her face. He shoved her things at her to free his hands for flailing. “I was just – I was – I heard it was supposed to rain. I was going to give you a ride from Buckley’s, but then I got distracted and ran a little late and—”

“Try _four hours_ late,” Shilo snorted.

His lips pressed into a flat line and he grunted and glared away toward the car. “Better late than never though, right?” He skulked off for the vehicle.

Shilo was hesitant to follow, but the rain was coming down heavier by the moment. “I’ll forgive you for being creepy and stalking me – _on one condition,”_ she haggled.

“Which is…?” he wearily prompted with a roll of his wrist.

“Cow-n-Chow drive-thru and swing by the movie shack,” she said as she came around to the passenger side. “Those are my demands.” She should have asked for a target range, but she didn’t consider it in time. At least she was good and cool now. Burning off some energy might have done her a fair bit of good after all.

“A small price to pay,” sighed Drakken. Meeting her inside the car, he added, “And I wasn’t stalking you. I was on my way to knock on your door like any respectable – uhm – to ask you—_nngh!” _He curled his lip and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes.

“Any respectable _what_ to ask me _what?”_

“Nothing.”

A few minutes later, the cross man was eating fries from a bag between his knees, and the sloshing windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the downpour. They hadn’t spoken outside of placing an order at the window and were now cutting through town to find the rental shack before closing. She hadn’t expected Drakken to strike up conversation – or if she had, she’d expected some jeering about angel boy – but instead, he gave a morose hum and looked over at her.

“What was that about anyway? Under the bridge?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. You want me to be honest with you. And I told you, so it’s your turn.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t give me a full answer,” Shilo retorted, hopeful to divert the subject away from poorly-managed alien fire she couldn’t keep contained.

“I was coming to _see you,”_ Drakken shot back at her. “I thought – geez, Shego! I thought that was clear already.”

_“Why?”_ Better yet, why was she raising her voice?

“Because I – I don’t know. Hoping I can change your mind about – what was it you called him? _Angel boy?”_

Shilo pressed against the door. “What?”

“I was just hopeful we’d get out Friday, alright?” Drakken grouched. “Just us. Maybe a henchman. Or not. I thought we’d go do something thrilling and dangerous, like crossing state lines in _this_ piece of crap. Because you’re right! You’re absolutely right. I need to get out sometimes. And it turns out, I _do_ enjoy getting out with you.”

She watched him swallow and his brow knit into deep creases. And she gave a frustrated sigh, deciding not to fault him. At least he was being honest. Or at least she had to trust he was. She hugged herself. _“Next _Friday night. I promise,” she said. “But you’re gonna let me do this with – with what’s his face, and you’re not gonna stop me. You got that?”

Drakken was quiet. She didn’t miss his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. “Loud and clear,” he grunted.

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Doc,” she grumbled, reaching into her own bag to pull out a pinch of overly-salted fries. “It’s not what you think.”

He scoffed. “Then what is it?”

She slumped back and kicked her muddy heels up on the dash. “I have a score to settle.” She couldn’t give him any more detail than that. She’d figure it out when she crossed that bridge. She knew only one thing – she’d make angel boy pay retribution, one way or another.

Drakken was quiet for a moment before he grumbled, “I am _not_ a sore loser. I didn’t _lose_ anything.” Shilo couldn’t help laughing a little at his frown. “I’m just – it’s nothing crucial – I’m just a little pissed off to have Friday plans pushed off the table, that’s all.”

“Live and learn,” she said around a mouthful, and shrugged. “Don’t set your heart on anything involving an _us_ without consulting me first. ‘Kay?”

She had to take his harumph as a grunt of agreement.

There was no reason to nod up to her darkened apartment and suggest he come upstairs. It wasn’t a feeble attempt to butter him up – because there was no reason to be apologetic for the clash of plans, much less apologetic for the existence of a boy who could stir something wretched in her. She had a movie, and movies were better with company. That was why Drakken followed her up the stairs.

The heater was kicked into operation and shoes were kicked off. Drakken’s jacket hung next to her slicker on the rack. He grudgingly agreed to the chore of popping the tape in while Shilo made the popcorn as the previews played.

She couldn’t help stealing a peek over her shoulder at the man kneeling before her television balanced on a small shelf. He was a decidedly better sight on her shaggy rug than the hoodlum with the mutt. And unlike the hoodlum, she might have been at least a little compelled to be a good host to the rogue doctor presently threatening to disassemble her malfunctioning remote from his spot on the floor.

No sooner had the stray thought of inviting the man onto her bed – to make up for lack of a couch – crossed her mind did she come to the jarring realization that she had in fact _not_ burned herself out. A soft popping sound wasn’t coming from the microwave – but rather the bubble and ooze of her glow escaping her palms.

A small gasp slipped out, and Drakken’s tired stare turning back at her didn’t ease the flush of heat. She hid her hands behind her back and slunk off to the bathroom.

There, she locked the door and wrung her hands.

She still felt watched, but she knew it was only her imagination. She found herself facing the sink. She squeezed her eyes shut and doused the licks of plasmic flame crawling over her hands and up her wrists under a stream of icy water, and all the while the orange bottle stared down at her.

There was no reason for her nerves to spike now. She wanted to blame it on the medication’s side-effects, or withdrawals, or _something._ Because it couldn’t be Drakken sitting in the other room, ready to watch a movie with her. That would complicate things.

Fire barely subdued for the moment, Shilo gripped the edge of the counter, telling herself she wouldn’t – yet one hand pried away, and the other had a pill in the palm a moment later. She drew a shaky breath, broke it in half, and nipped a piece off that, just like she used to on the average rough day in between classes. It was only a fraction of a dose. Unless _big brother_ had upped the potency, it should be just enough to take the edge off without the risk of knocking her out cold. She’d get a little drowsy at the very most, she assured herself.

Just as bitter as she remembered, the crumb dissolved on her tongue before she could swallow. She resisted the urge to retch.

The smell of burnt popcorn all but yanked her from the bathroom then. She swore as she burst out the door, and startled to find Drakken dumping the remainder of blackened kernels into the trash. Her face heated, but no more than it should have.

“Most of it survived,” Drakken informed with a nod back to a bowl on the counter.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, and ducked back into the bathroom for another moment to change. She returned once and for all a minute later, dressed in full cotton PJs of a dingy shade of green, feeling just a little overdressed after last night and twice as flustered to consider it now. She almost wished she’d been under the influence, just for something to blame the rash decision on.

She tugged at the hems of her sleeves as she passed the man sitting on her floor again, and took up a spot at the head of her bed. He made no comment on her jammies. Good. She’d thwack him if he did.

As the movie opened up to the sound of sirens, Shilo shifted in place where she sat on the edge of the mattress, just close enough for her company to hand the bowl of popcorn up to her. She nibbled for a few minutes before shifting slightly again and stopping herself from patting the spot next to her. “Why don’t you sit up here?” she blurted anyway.

Drakken slouched, his legs kicked out and crossed at the ankle, arms folded over his chest. “Thank you, no,” he said stubbornly. “I’m good.”

Her eyebrows knit together at the blatant rebuff. Without pausing to think, she reached down to grab him by the hair at the top of his head, giving it a small tug as she crossly ordered, “Get your stupid ass off the floor.” At the first tingle, she snapped her hand away in time for sparks to glint at her fingertips. She wiped her hand on her shirt as if to erase the sensation.

Grunting, Drakken hefted himself up to slouch on the edge next to her, and he only sat straighter to accommodate the bowl relocated to his lap. Shilo migrated away to the corner, a pillow behind her and another to hug. As the new release rolled on, the unhappy blue man relaxed, inching backward until his feet were off the floor and his back was against the wall. He made headway on the popcorn, but she didn’t complain. She didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment anyway with arcs of blood spraying onscreen. Not that she could trust herself to reach for any popcorn with her hands still threatening to bloom with green embers.

In vain hope of resisting the siren call of the suppressant, she worked up the nerve to lean over and reach under her bed, fishing out the stylized glass water pipe. She cleared her throat, and just barely saw dark eyes flick her way past the massacre reflecting off his lenses. “You wanna break this in with me?” she quipped as nonchalantly as she could.

Drakken didn’t seem particularly alarmed or impressed by the paraphernalia she presented, but he’d seen it before. His only reply was a withering look.

Indulging anyway with or without him crossed her mind, but Shilo sheepishly tucked it back beneath the bed instead. “I’ll take that as a _no,”_ she mumbled, and scoffed. “Pssh. You’re no fun.”

Drakken opened his mouth to argue, but a scream from the television cut him off. He didn’t look like he was enjoying the movie, but he’d yet to leave or suggest any other tape in her meager collection.

Sighing, Shilo relaxed into her bed and wriggled a bit to get comfortable, trying and failing to make the best of her limited space with her guest in the way. Uncomfortable or not, the weight of the day settled over her, weighing her eyelids down soon enough. Or maybe it was the fraction of a pill doing her in. She wondered if the supposed villain would be courteous enough turn off the TV and lock the door on his way out when the movie was over, but she didn’t let herself count on it.

After a while of watching the blurry shapes through her lashes, movement in the dark from the corner of her eye drew her sluggish attention.

She almost lifted her head to ask if he was leaving, but kept her silence as she watched him pull a square of paper from a back pocket. Her drowsiness slowly lifted as he unfolded the slip and frowned miserably. He chewed his lip and cast a fleeting glance her way, only to jump when she croaked, “What?”

He blinked back to the television, paper crumpled and hidden between his knees. “It’s nothing – _ow!”_ he yelped when she drove her heel hard into his hip. “For fuck’s sake, Shego. It’s personal.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, relaxing back into the pillow she hugged beneath her. Feigning acceptance or disinterest didn’t last long. Soon she was sitting up again, making a snappy grab for the wadded note he couldn’t hold out of reach in time.

He barked her alias again in annoyance as she scooted back to her corner to unfold the slip. She stuck a heel out again to keep him at a distance. “That is none of your business!” he spat at her.

_“RSVP! You’re invited,”_ she began aloud with flair, and settled to mumbling along, one hand precariously lit to read the hand-written invitation on floral-print notepaper smelling of powder and flowers of a variety she couldn’t place. A polite invitation to thanksgiving dinner at Mrs. Lipsky’s home in Middleton, California, finished with a guilt-tripping dig,_ P.S. We miss you._

Her eyes glanced over the plus-one invitation once more before she arched an eyebrow at the purple-faced man resigned to sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping his head.

_“Mrs._ Lipsky? I didn’t know you were married—”

“That’s my _mother,” _he spat venomously.

Shilo almost winced, but instead she nodded. “Ah. That makes more sense, I guess. Um. Here.” She passed the invitation back. He snatched it and stuffed the crumpled paper back into a pocket, and she stared for a second too long before sitting back against the wall. “So. You gonna go?”

“No,” he grunted, barely audible. He’d gone back to clutching his head.

“Is the cooking that bad?” Shilo quipped in a meek attempt to make light of his disturbance.

Drakken’s nostrils flared and his glare bore down at her, and she had to take a wild guess he was deeply offended on his mother’s behalf. She made a mental note not to insult the woman she knew nothing about, or her cooking. He didn’t bite back at her for the comment though, and instead grumbled, “I can’t go.”

“Why not?” she pressed coolly. She relaxed back down on her side, pillows bundled under her.

“I haven’t seen Mother since—,” he groaned and deflated. By the light of a stormy night scene glowing from the television, he looked bluer than she’d ever seen him before.

_“Since?”_

He heaved a defeated sigh, and she barely heard him mumble, “Since before the incident.” A small gesture to himself sufficed. It shed a little light on why he was having such a bad day.

“Oh.” She quirked her mouth and shrank down a little. She had nothing to be guilty for. The chain of events wasn’t her fault. “How’d you get mixed up with Gemini anyway?” she blurted, and immediately considered that maybe she should have kept her lips zipped.

“I don’t want to dredge up – _alright!_ Stop kicking me,” he groused, shoving her heel roughly away. “I suppose it all began in a Hellhole I bussed when I stole the game plan from one of his agents. And then after you – after I _let you go._” He glowered and chewed on something bitter for a moment before spitting it out with some more frustrated gestures thrown in._ “Right_ after. They tried to intercept but got me instead. I was interrogated, and he was about to off me himself until I pled for my life and offered my services and allegiance. It was not my proudest moment. Are you satisfied?”

She knew Gemini. She knew he could be cruel and merciless, holding little regard for human life. Drew Lipsky of four years ago must have shown promise, _whatever_ he’d done to sway the head of the criminal spy organization. She tried to imagine her bumbling rogue doctor, still pasty-skinned and stinking of pickles, walking on eggshells around the leader of the pack. How he’d survived more than a day without being dropped down a chute to be fed to piranhas or crocodiles was a wonder. It had to be a sore spot.

A mousy little, “Sorry,” was the only thing Shilo could think to say.

“For what?” he grumped.

She shrugged halfheartedly. “For getting you mixed up with villainy?”

Suddenly the dismal man’s shoulders shook, but before she could suspect a sob, he threw his head back and a bitter chortle erupted from him. He was well on his way to maniacal laughter, and Shilo was taken aback as he laughed in the face of her sentiment. She wished she could take it back as he shot a nasty sneer over at her. For a fleeting moment, there was something sinister behind his eyes to remind her there may have very well been something to his self-proclaimed _villain_ title after all.

“Sister, I was _born_ twisted. You and Gemini were just the breakthrough I needed,” he stated with a growl like corrosive acid, maybe the same acid burning a hole through his soul. She’d like to believe he was more resilient than that – but that wouldn’t make him very evil, would it? That was what she was with him for, wasn’t it?

She felt rather foolish now for lying down so comfortably. For being comfortable in his presence _at all._ Too stubborn and jaded to let him know he was capable of worrying her though, she kept herself in check and maintained a deadpan stare on him until the darkness behind his eyes lightened up a little.

“Twisted, huh?” she jibbed with a small chuckle. “You seem like just a big softy to me.”

There was a hint of something genuine in the smile he cracked. “Oh, I’ve got skeletons,” he assured. “You should see my basement.”

She rolled her eyes at his misuse of the expression.


	29. Aura of Others – 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This night will last a few chapters. ;B enjoi

Even a strange blue man in bed next to her would have been a better sight than cracking her eyes open to a scruffy brown rat down by her feet, nibbling a puff of popcorn. Shilo shrieked and nailed the pest with a shot of plasma before she could think twice. Blasted straight off the foot of the bed, it hit the ground running, and she heard the squealing rodent flee to the hole in the wall across the apartment.

Regretting the reflex, she hoped that it wouldn’t die in the walls and leave a nasty odor.

She heaved a breath and melted back into the sheets, limp and just a little numb already from the undue adrenaline. She had four minutes until her alarm clock sounded off, which was four minutes to spare to stare up at her hands.

Today was the day. She’d really be testing her willpower and self-control by the end of it.

Shilo let her hands ignite, pouring her concentration into it until the glow began to feel hot even by her standards. It was a good indicator she was overdoing it when the cotton sleeves bunched around her elbows began to discolor and smoke.

She snuffed it out completely at will as the alarm clock beeped, and let her hands cool in the air for another minute before dropping them over herself, warming her stomach.

Deep breaths. She could do this. It wasn’t like she’d never been on a date before. Well, alright, so maybe she hadn’t officially – but she’d hung out with people in groups and alone and that was practically the same, and she’d made out with the neighbor boy a few times after returning to the charade of a normal life and might have made it to third base had _ big brother _ not presumably butted in.

She shoved the thought from her mind too late. She didn’t need a grudge fogging her brain today, and she didn’t need to kick it off by over-thinking scenarios so soon and getting in a tizzy.

The alarm clock was on her last nerve. She nearly blasted it to smithereens. But it was in front of the vanity mirror, and she was in no mood to clean up more shattered glass so soon.

As she prepared herself for the day, she tried to remain deaf to the rain coming down in sheets and driving waves of clamor on the roof and windows, at least until the saturated roof began to leak. She sighed remorsefully and mopped up the mess with a designated towel before pushing a pot under the drip which she knew might not be enough to contain the leak if the rain didn’t let up soon.

She had her slicker and an umbrella, and was braced to make the soggy walk to Buckley’s despite any drowsy agreements she’d made last night, but was pleasantly surprised to find herself smirking gratefully at the blue man in a brown suede jacket standing outside her door, holding an umbrella of his own.

“So you _ can _ tell time,” she noted.

Drakken grunted but held out an arm. “Your chariot awaits,” he said. It might have been more charming or funny had he been more enthusiastic.

Shilo didn’t remark on his mood and rather than accepting the gesture, she shoved him before stepping under the shelter of his umbrella instead of popping open her own.

He’d worried her last night with his little outburst, but he’d reigned it in and composed himself in short order. She’d lightheartedly offered to make a pact that if they both found themselves diligently avoiding family on the fourth Thursday of November, they could just skip town and dine on gourmet Chow, holiday edition. Effectively cheered up, Drakken had loved the prospect enough that he hadn’t even noticed the plasma glittering over her palm when they’d shook on it.

Though he’d been in good enough spirits when he insisted on leaving early last night, he didn’t look all that giddy today. His eyelids were heavy, though he didn’t look incredibly tired, and his lips were pulled into a slight frown as if something had left a bad aftertaste in his mouth. As she studied his face, he cast his dark eyes her way, and she snapped her stare back to the road quickly.

“Chow?” he offered.

“If we hit the drive-thru,” she agreed. She sighed drearily to herself and leaned her head against the window streaked with rain. “I’m going to get sick if I keep eating that crap though.”

“You’re realizing this _ now?” _He was one to talk, with his freezer full of microwavable junk.

She almost kicked him. “Shaddup.” She settled for flipping him the bird, but Drakken only chuckled.

Truth be told, she was too uneasy to have more than a couple bites of her breakfast cereal earlier. She’d dumped the remainder down the toilet, and the rest had followed a moment later when she’d upchucked, no thanks to the nerves curdling in her stomach all morning. She’d barely been up for an hour and the day was off to a bad start already. She’d brushed her teeth and gargled afterward, but a hash brown patty to nibble on helped get the taste out of her mouth and off her breath once and for all, or so she hoped.

She was picking the patty apart and watching the grey swaths of rain sweep through town as they left the Cow-n-Chow lot when something caught her eye. The neon sign wasn’t lit this early, but it was legible enough. With a surge of nerves prickling down her spine, her eyes popped wide and she realized she’d never tracked down the rendezvous point.

There was no need now, she realized as she watched _ Westinger Grill _ slide away into the gray haze. She shot an inquiring look to her glum driver and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.

“Westinger Grill,” she spat out. “That’s the weird karaoke place, right?”

Drakken glanced back in the mirror and gave a grunt and a shrug in reply. “You mean the one you hated?”

A baffled, _ “Huh?” _ fell out of her mouth. Sure, she might have been uncomfortable and dreaded being pulled on stage like the first time, but – Shilo frowned at the gloomy man and defended herself, “I never said that.”

“You dined and dashed,” he stated as if the fact alone was proof.

Shilo clammed up at the reminder. She almost threw her hash brown to the dirty floorboard of the stolen station wagon, appetite momentarily quelled, but took a big bite instead for a perfectly acceptable excuse not to answer him. She didn’t have to defend herself anyway. She’d been under no obligation to stay. She hadn’t even left because she hated it – though it might be better to let him think that, she decided. In fact, she’d really sort of liked it. Too much. And he’d sat a little too close, and his smile had been a little too warm, or made _ her _ a little too warm – and she’d decided it was better to bail before it was too late, before she lost her cool like she did every time angel boy hexed her, like she was on the verge of doing now—

“Do I need to pull over?” Drakken piped, interrupting her spiraling thoughts. “You look sick.”

“It’s just the dru—uh—uhm.” She couldn’t blame the medication anymore. He couldn't know about the debilitating drug at all – _ period _ – let alone that she had it in her possession. “No. I’m fine.” Her mouth was full of cotton but she swallowed against it anyway, and slouched back and folded her hands over her stomach to discreetly blow on them with a sigh. She’d taken another nip earlier to cool herself down, and had the remnants of the tablet in her purse just in case. She was good to go. She wasn’t at risk of flaring up at the tiniest bit of agitation.

“Are you sure?” He sounded less concerned for her and more concerned with having a mess to clean up.

“I’m sure.”

She picked her hash brown back up from her lap, finishing it off and inwardly hoping he wouldn’t need to pull over after all as she tucked into her muffin sandwich too.

The big day was really off to a rotten start, she decided. She’d been sick once, almost sick a second time, nearly lost her cool over a trivial accusation, and resorted to messing around in her purse to take another pinch off a pill and sneak the crumb under her tongue when Drakken wasn’t looking, all before even arriving at Buckley’s Brew.

When he asked if she’d be needing a ride this afternoon, he added the snide remark about chaperoning her and angel boy. She told him to get bent and leapt out of the car to make the dash through the pouring rain and into Buckley’s. In her haste, she forgot her umbrella but opted not to go back for it.

All day, she watched the rain outside fall. In such dreary weather, foot traffic was low and customers were few and far between. Which left ample time for Abigail and Chester, the kitchen hand, to gang up on her, making inquiries and accusations about her involvement with the local villain, perverse or otherwise, as well as pressing for classified information regarding Team Go – like what was a real lair like, did she _ really _ think she stood a chance of getting into LHU with _ her _ track record, and was Drakken hiring yet?

The dogging lasted until Buckley broke it up. Shilo regretted sneaking yet another nip halfway through her shift – otherwise, she might have thrown a glow-laced punch at her fellow barista’s pudgy face to end the discussion. Given a break from the remarks and questions, she slumped into a seat as a fog settled over her, only to jump up at the chime announcing a customer’s arrival. Her immediate fear was angel boy, or Drakken, or her brothers, but it was just a regular, and she put on a warm smile for the drenched woman laughing and making light of the downpour filling the reservoir.

By noon, a small ray of hope shined, golden and tantalizing outside on wet pavement. The rain hadn’t stopped, but it had lightened up considerably, the clouds breaking up enough to let some shifting sunlight reach the drenched oasis town.

As she left Buckley’s that afternoon, she looked to the heavens to study the blue sky mottled with bruises of grey rain clouds drifting eastward. The weather report, according to the television installed in the corner of the café, claimed the storm had passed, but there was still a churning tumult in her stomach as she trudged home, taking detours around flooded streets and grudgingly wading through an ankle-deep puddle on the last intersection, her studio in sight.

Her umbrella was leaned against the door. She scoffed a curse at the man who wasn’t even there.

As she hung up her things, she cast a glance at the clock. Three hours to go. She contemplated showing up fashionably late, or early, or – she swore again and combed her fingers through her hair. What did people _ wear _ to these sorts of things? She groaned to herself, wondering if everyday street clothes were acceptable, as she didn’t own anything nicer. Not yet anyway.

Two hours later, she’d turned her closet and drawers inside out and prayed she wouldn’t be bringing a guest home tonight. That thought alone was like dropping a live wire in a puddle, sending sparks of heat flooding to all the wrong places. She was getting ahead of herself. She was in this for payback. Not to behave like some deprived love-struck puppy. Not that she could risk pushing her luck without a little help from the pill – and she wasn’t about to roofie herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut and denied doing _ exactly that _ just to relax enough to watch a simple movie with Drakken last night.

Hell, she’d even started to fall asleep again, despite his outburst. The rogue could have done anything, but instead, he’d decided to take his leave. Shilo wanted to shout and swear now that she’d only imagined grabbing his sleeve to ask him to stay. Or maybe she’d asked if he _ wanted _ to stay. Maybe she’d been asking, or hoping, for both. Maybe she’d even wanted to try having someone beside her – _ actually _ beside her, not out of reach clear across a stupidly vast oversized bed. She’d slept in dogpiles among her brothers after tough missions before, but a man was inherently different—

She shuddered and tried to pull her thoughts back to angel boy. Angel boy was who she was seeing tonight. Angel boy was who she pulled on her nicest spotless khakis and teal cardigan for, and why she clipped on the bracelet for good measure. Hair tied back to show her earrings, she wondered if the rockhound could tell at a glance the difference between rhinestones and genuine diamonds – and then decided if he was such a snob that he cared, well, she’d just have to raise the price of payback.

She still wasn’t sure what she had planned for angel boy. Something along the lines of burglary brought a smile to her as she headed out into the evening to make the trek across town. She could steal things little by little, or swindle him, or scope out the precious gems packed in that big gaudy house she was positive a young guy like him didn’t own. It was probably his parents’ house. That slowed her pace. She really wouldn’t like having to deal with meeting anyone’s parents, but if that’s what it took to get inside to get a good look around, then so be it. A house like that probably had a nice security system – not that cameras had ever stopped her before.

A cold wind blew straight through her as the Cow-n-Chow came into sight, just off Main Street on the far end of town. She hugged herself and wished she’d worn something warmer than the cardigan. She longed for a cozy woolen sweater, maybe one that enveloped her in a weird mix of comforting smells like cookies and oil-spills in the lab. Then again, smelling like one of Drakken’s workshop rags couldn’t be the best way to show up for a date, she supposed.

She looked up from watching for puddles as the chosen restaurant came into view. The sign to Westinger Grill buzzed in bright red, and in the window, just as she’d seen before, the karaoke sign flashed as if to tempt passerby.

As she cut through the parking lot toward the tall junipers lining the walkway to the entrance and patio, a familiar ugly station wagon caught her eye. Before she could groan in dread – it couldn’t be – she was discontented to find the front patio was occupied.

Slumped over on a bench near the door sat a man looking a little too blue for her liking. And of all things, he was puffing away at a cigarette she doubted was making him feel any better, by the looks of it. Or if it was, she’d hate to have seen him before he lit up. He was still in his plain street clothes, yet he looked a little disheveled as if he’d been thrown out or had neglected to tuck in his shirt or straighten his jacket all day.

Shilo’s pace slowed as she neared and she stopped before him. Her hands rested on her hips, but his droopy gaze didn’t lift from his scuffed oxfords. “Dr. Drakken?” she called down to him as if unsure it was the same moody scientist she knew. His eyes darted up at her, and he pulled a face almost like a sneer – yep, still Drakken – and she shifted to cross her arms. “What are you doing here? You know, this stalking thing is getting old—”

“Oh, you think everything’s about _ you, _ don’t you?” he snorted, and nodded to the window behind him. Specifically the blinking karaoke sign in it. He checked his watch. “Doesn’t start for another…oh…fifteen. Thirteen? Minutes.”

She gathered she was early.

“And you’re totally sulking about _ karaoke _ and not the fact we aren’t doing some Bonnie and Clyde gig, which you were just bitching about yesterday.” She nodded to herself as if that made perfect sense – and in the next second, she had the feeling she was off the mark when he shot her a dirty look that made her shift again and back down.

“It’s not about you, Shego,” he reiterated, grinding out the words. “Fuck off.” He was in an especially bad mood tonight, she decided.

Shilo held up her hands in peace. “Language, Doc,” she teased tersely.

The crotchety man rolled his eyes and mimicked her in a whiny indiscernible mutter. “Why are _ you _ here?” he grumbled, eyeing her suspiciously as she turned to cast a glance back around the parking lot.

No angel boy in sight, she stepped forward and took a seat next to Drakken on the bench, though she kept a mindful distance. She leaned a little to peek at his wristwatch, but that was as close as she came. “What do you think?” she scoffed, smoothing out the wrinkles on her sleeves. “Waiting on my date.”

Pissy mood aside, Drakken cracked a weak lopsided smile. “I’m flattered,” he jibbed.

“Oh, shut up,” she bit back, and almost struck him in the shoulder.

Drakken almost reluctantly offered the cigarette her way then, raising his brow as if in question. She decided maybe he wasn’t in such a bad mood after all. Or maybe it was improving the longer she sat beside him. She wanted to pretend she was imagining it, but she could see him cheering up and sitting straighter, his eyes brighter, focused, and on her.

Minutes of silence passed. The cigarette changed hands a few times before Drakken finally flicked the butt into the juniper hedge, and the silence ensued for some time after as patrons of Westinger Grill came and went.

Shilo heard the first musically-challenged karaoke enthusiast of the night begin caterwauling inside. Drakken remained next to her, twiddling his thumbs and looking glum, but still better than he had when she’d arrived. “It’s starting,” she noted.

“Yes, I know. I’m not deaf.” He made no move to get up. He seemed to shrink just a little even, his spirits dimmed.

“Well, if you’re not gonna sing, then what are you doing here?” she wondered. “You know, besides sulking out here in the cold?” She could see her breath now and it wasn’t the smoke anymore, she realized. She rubbed her arms. If she hadn’t been medicating herself with a pinch here and there all day, she might have had her second nature readily burning her up right about now.

Drakken slouched back and let out a horrible noise that passed for a sigh. “You don’t want to know.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t want to tell you.” His snooty answer changed when she kicked his shin, but not before he released another guttural groan and slumped forward to hide behind a hand. “The plan is to drink my troubles away and do something foolhardy,” he grumbled, and she elbowed him. He nodded to the parking lot. “I’m pushing the car off a cliff.”

Shilo still had the sense he was omitting something, but she let it go for now. She stifled a small laugh and caught herself inching closer, close enough he was almost warm against her side. Or maybe that was just her. “What? You think I wouldn’t want in on pushing a car off a cliff?” It sounded better than karaoke, anyway.

“Why would I invite you? _ You _ were supposed to have a date,” Drakken reminded.

He had a point. She narrowed her eyes and didn’t comment on it though. Instead, she scoffed. “Why the sudden urge to push a perfectly good car off a cliff anyway?”

She had a pretty good idea of the ledge he was thinking of. She’d parked the SUV there her first night in the oasis. It was a good place to push a car from – if memory served her well. The thought of sitting on top of the car overlooking the pond of light in the valley below, sharing quiet chatter and making plans to cause a little chaos, was more appealing than sitting outside a grill waiting for a tardy angel boy who may or may not show.

Drakken shrugged. He dug in his coat pocket for his pack of smokes, but she reached across to push his hand down. If he lit another now, they’d be out here until it was finished – and it was getting pretty chilly out. Her hand rested over his for a second too long, and it was a decidedly good thing he was wearing his leather gloves or he might have felt the pinpricks of her nerves shooting down to her fingertips before she could snap her hand back.

The man let out another grievous sigh, his breath still smoky from the last cigarette and already bearing a hint of alcohol. She shouldn’t have been close enough to smell it. “It looks too much like my mother’s,” grumbled Drakken.

Shilo couldn’t help quirking her brow at him. “I thought you said you _ wanted _ a station wagon?”

“I did, but that was before – _ nngg!” _ He shoved his glasses up and scrubbed his face. His temper was climbing again. “Just let it go, please. I’m begging you.”

Just as she’d been about to scoot away to give him breathing space, Drakken jumped up. His hands flailed in the air and he gestured down the street, smacking into the juniper in the wild movement as he did. “Why can’t you go to _ Cow-n-Chow?” _ he griped, just about yelling it down at her.

“Why can’t _ you _ go to Cow-n-Chow?” she retorted, rising as well.

Drakken crinkled his nose and curled his lip. “Because! I’m – I was here first!”

“Too bad. I have a prior arrangement to be here.” Shilo crossed her arms and planted her feet.

He took a quick scan about and threw his arms out into the air on either side of him. “Well it looks like you’ve been stood up,” he announced. That wasn’t true. Was it? She didn’t have the time – and Drakken didn’t know when she was supposed to meet angel boy anyway.

Shilo crossed her arms. The assumption stirred worry in her gut, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking around to be sure for herself, or of letting the disappointment show on her face. She gave a little shrug she hoped was nonchalant and indifferent enough to mask it. “Yeah, not the first time,” she lied.

A strange mix of pity and anger flashed in the man’s eyes, and his face twisted, and he crossed his arms as well and practically stamped a foot as he turned to take in their surroundings again. “We could _ both _ go to Cow-n-Chow,” he suggested as if it were troublesome just to speak the words.

“Little tired of Chow,” Shilo dismissed. It wasn’t a lie in the least. Some pasta and breadsticks would be a nice change, but she’d be happy with chicken tenders too.

“Alright then…” Drakken rocked on his heels for a second, hands stuffed in his pockets. He was starting to look chilled. At least, she’d like to think that was why his ears and cheeks were turning purple. “Well, there’s always room at my table,” he said with a nod to the door of the restaurant and held out his arm for her to take, just as he had Monday night when he’d been decked out in his Halloween costume. “Care to join me?”

Eyeing his arm, she entertained the idea. Her hand, nervous tingling aside, itched to take it, and her heart thumped in encouragement and her stomach did a funny flip that wasn’t as sickening as she might have expected after being so worried sick earlier in the day.

But a buzzing pulled her attention past Drakken then, and he glanced back over the hedge just as none other than angel boy came zipping into the parking lot on a dinky little white moped. Drakken scoffed and made a sarcastic comment under his breath, “No helmet? What a daredevil.”

Shilo shoved him toward the door. “Get outta here,” she hissed.

“I’ll take that as a _ no,” _he grumbled. “Suit yourself. See you inside.”

“Don’t crash any cars without me!” she whispered sharply at his back.


	30. Aura of Others – 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm weak on the whole dating thing. Seriously, that whole Drakken business didn't leave a lot of time for socializing."_  
Gee! I wonder, why was she so quick to blame Drakken? ;D  
Also, song in mind for Drakken is Thunderstruck...which will come back next chapter in a really corny way because I love bad puns apparently.

Angel boy greeted her with a handshake, which she declined. Her palms were sweaty but that wasn’t their worst offense. She kept them hidden behind her back, too struck by the spike of nerves stinging her palms that she almost didn’t catch his name. Thomas Thompson. His friends called him Tom, Tom Tom, or Tommy. She decided on Tom.

She forgot her own name, and her condition was worsened when she realized the rockhound was waiting for it in turn. Torn between spitting up an alias and her real name, she nearly blurted the wrong answer, barely managing to stutter out, “She—_ Shilo. _ It’s Shilo.”

Angel boy – _ Tom _ – let his outstretched hand fall. He gave a small awkward laugh and got the door, gesturing her in. “Hope you weren’t waiting long,” he apologized. It sounded strangely sincere. She almost believed it was.

Shilo took a deep breath and willed the heat away from her skin, wishing it could just stay locked away burning in the pit of her stomach. “Just a couple minutes,” she fibbed with a meek shrug. It had been more like twenty, but at least half of that was on her for showing up early.

She lingered at an awkward distance as she faced the cause of the hellfire threatening to burn her alive. Tom threw glances over his shoulder at her, flashing wavering smiles, until she was forced to face him _ head-on _ once seated at a table for two. Directly beside the stage, no less. She tried to find her voice and suggest elsewhere, but options were limited as the place was packed tonight.

She gathered the extra bustle was due to a portion of the town’s power grid going down due to the weather. _ Her _ part, by the sound of things. Something about a downed tree taking power poles with it. She was too caught up in eavesdropping on the table over and avoiding eye contact to immediately notice Tom was fishing for her attention until he fanned his menu at her.

Going rigid at the breeze, she snuck a glance at the aquamarine eyes sparkling at her. She barely heard him inquire on her age. She barely remembered what it even was with him looking at her – but the age he gave her in turn sent a strange swell of nerves mixing around in her stomach. He was twenty. Less than a year older than her – that was perfectly acceptable, perfectly normal, she assured herself inwardly. He only asked because he was curious if she drank. As Shilo’s eyes strayed across the establishment to locate a familiar mullet at the bar, she lied and said she didn’t. It was a poorly executed joke, as it turned out, and Tom ordered her a diet soft drink before she could order a coke for herself.

She tried to ignore the technical difficulties occurring on stage as she skimmed over the menu, and tried not to peek over the top of it toward Tom or the rogue doctor who’d resigned to slumping at the bar a ways behind him. She saw Drakken knock back at least two shots, and there was no telling how much he’d downed when she wasn’t looking.

Too unfocused to give the menu any real consideration, she ordered something she knew they had and she liked – chicken strips with a side of jojos. And a salad, she added under Tom’s studying stare. He’d been vegetarian for nine months, she learned. She couldn’t care less about his grilled eggplant.

Participants began taking the stage again. As each sang their number and moved along, she dreaded whoever might come next. She nibbled uneasily on her jojos, only half-listening to Tom’s criticisms of the wannabes. He boasted about being a soprano in choir. She’d heard Drakken sing at quite a high pitch too, and she wasn’t eager to hear Tom anytime soon – but unfortunately, Tom had other plans. _ He’d _ signed up and was patiently waiting his turn.

“You should try it,” he suggested. “It’s fun,” he promised.

She _ almost _ bought it. Wouldn’t _ that _ get under Drakken’s skin, to take the stage just because some angel boy urged her to? She had to shake her head. “I’ll pass,” she said. “I can’t sing.” According to the curious blue man now eyeballing her from the bar, that was a lie. She kept her head down, wishing she hadn’t worn her hair up so she could at least hide her flushed cheeks a little behind it.

Tom went on to make a meager attempt to egg her on but got a clue quick that it was futile. “Maybe next time we can try the bowling alley,” he said sheepishly.

_ Next time? _ She almost laughed but the incredulous noise that escaped her in its place was laced with nerves. “Y-yeah,” she stuttered. “Maybe. Where’s that at?”

Angel boy arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re kidding me?” he said, blinking incredulously at her. Shilo’s smile was strained. “Everyone knows about the bowling alley. It’s practically a historical building around here.” She really wasn’t thrilled to have ignorance rubbed in, but kept her mouth shut. The talkative boy wove his hands under his chin and leaned over the table toward her, a dazzling smile scorching through her. “You’re really not from around here, are you?”

“Is it my accent?” she guessed awkwardly. She wouldn’t even say she _ had _ one – but maybe a Nevadan local might notice she was from out of the area.

“No,” said Tom, lowering his voice. “You were on TV. You’re—,” he shut his mouth, eyes flicking around the crowded room. A wise move – now if only he’d shut up completely. Shilo sat rigid, none too eager to hear her alias from his mouth. He bit back a nervous chuckle and sat back, fighting off the grin. “I think it’s amazing what you do.”

Discerning what she was being praised for wasn’t exactly rocket science. Whether he was amazed by the heroic acts of her former life or the misdeeds she’d indulged in since arriving in this oasis town, she forced on a smile and turned her nervous eyes down to poke at her salad. “What gave it away?” she wondered uneasily, though she really didn’t want to continue the subject. Maybe he’d spell it out for her what aspect appealed to him – though she already had a pretty good idea which side of her some religious vegetarian with a stance against alcohol would fancy.

“Lucky guess,” he whispered above the ending wails of a karaoke participant, and Shilo decided trick-or-treating in uniform had definitely been a foolhardy thing to do. “Um…We shouldn’t talk about this here, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes on him, a little more hostile than she meant to be. “Take a guess,” she suggested. She cleared her throat then, trying with difficulty to reclaim some of the fluster that had dissipated. His charm was wearing off fast. “Um. I mean, yeah. I’ve, um. Come out west to take a break. Get some _ me-time _ in,” she fibbed. “It was pretty demanding work.”

“So you’ve given it up?”

Her eyes flicked up to the almost crestfallen young man. “Classified,” she said shortly and stuffed tasteless salad in her mouth. As he watched her, she realized that she really should have denied everything from the get-go.

She should have known better, but disappointment still got the best of her. So _ that _ was it. Thomas Thompson’s interest in her wasn’t in _ her _ – it was in a superheroine who went by a stage name. It had to be. A chill sank into her bones, smothering the inferno that had been straining to flare and flow freely until now. So what? So what if he liked some nonexistent _ supergirl? _ She was _ Shilo _ tonight and _ Shego _ wasn’t the superhuman she used to be, and she wasn’t going to go out of her way to clean up the town no matter what sad look he gave her. And if he _ dared _ to blow her cover, then she’d just have to find something even worse to do to him than steal some stupid valuable rocks.

Another thought crept over her, churning her stomach and obliterating her appetite completely. If _ he’d _ figured it out, some small-town nobody, _ who else had? _ The damn Team Go jet had been parked out on the front lawn all day, for crying out loud. It was a dead giveaway. It had even made local news! Hugo couldn’t learn the meaning of _ subtle _ if it was engraved on a brick and chucked at his head. How _ he _ ever went so long with a secret identity was a mystery.

“Nothing wrong with time away to find yourself,” said Tom eventually, sounding awfully disenchanted. _ Good. _ “Have you thought of finding—?”

“Thomas Thompson, if you say _ Jesus, _ I swear to God,” Shilo hissed, pointing a lettuce-laden fork at him. The young man looked taken aback. Remembering why she was wasting her time on this absurd date in the first place, she forced another smile and a small laugh. “I’m kidding. It was a joke.”

_ “Hah,” _ he said in lieu of a real laugh, still visibly unsettled. He shifted in his seat. “I’d still like to get to know you better. If that’s cool with you.”

Movement behind him caught her eye, and whatever he was spieling about movie tickets went in one ear and out the other now. She tried not to look straight at Drakken swaggering across the room, weaving between tables and nearly knocking into a busboy. Shilo realized he was heading for the stage – but first, the tipsy man took a few paces past the steps to make an odd gesture behind Thomas. Her eyes narrowed on the smirking rogue doctor fluttering his hands behind the angel boy like a pair of little wings.

His secret mocking didn’t help the warmth creeping back to the surface.

Tom turned to glance back and Shilo snapped her eyes back to her half-cleared plate. Drakken was already marching up onto the stage.

The screen to feed him the lines was snubbed with a haughty laugh and he cleared his throat, or maybe he was just choking on spit. She knew the boozy rogue doctor was going to go all out when he scooped up the microphone. He gave a thumbs up to whoever was in charge of the system, and the track started. Shilo leaned forward on her elbows and squeezed her eyes shut as the man on stage took the moment to exercise his vocal cords, rocking on his heels and nodding along as he fell into the rhythm before stomping to a thunderous rock beat_ , _effectively earning attention of diners. It wasn’t as good as the original, and he’d had a bit too much to drink to perform at his best, but no one could say he wasn’t enthusiastic.

If her eyes were open, she would have rolled them at the blatant attention-seeking, but she was bound and determined not to give him the time of day.

_ “This guy,” _ huffed Tom. There was something less than holy in angel boy’s tone as the current drunk participant began wholeheartedly reciting verses by heart while Shilo’s stomach knotted up.

She risked cracking her eyes open, raising her brow at Tom. “You know him?” she wondered as the volume rose.

“No, it’s just!” Tom waved off toward the stage, though Drakken was all but jigging directly above them now. He spoke behind his hand then. “Every time he’s here, he totally hogs the mic.” She could picture that.

She tried not to glance toward the oxfords skittering nearby. “You come here often?”

Tom shrugged one shoulder in an ambiguous answer and sat back to sip his diet soda and watch the soloist rocking out. As Shilo was gauging him, his critical eyes turned curious and back on her, flicking upward and back. “Do _ you _ know this guy?”

“Nope,” she said with a pop, fidgeting with her straw to swirl the ice in her glass.

“He’s sure looking at you a lot.”

She didn’t need to look up to see for herself. She could _ feel _ it. Playing it off, she shook her ponytail from side to side. “What can I say? I’m hot stuff,” she quipped as cooly as possible.

Tom stared at her for a long moment before a genuine grin cracked across his face and a chortle broke out. “Is that because – because of—?” He held his hand up and wiggled his fingers as if to imitate her fire. Her face heated, and if the angelic moron wasn’t careful, he’d soon be treating burns. So he got the joke. It wasn’t that funny. He could quit giggling about it any time now.

He reined it in, wiping the smile off his face. “Why don’t we get out of here?” he suggested. “This guy’s creeping me out. He’s kind of a freak.”

While Dr. Drakken was rightfully off-putting, boozy and jamming out on stage mere feet away, thoroughly humiliating her, she still shook her head. She let the freak comment slide – this time. “We can leave after I see what you can do,” she said.

Drakken’s number ended. He put the microphone back on the stand and left the stage without making a scene. Some applause followed him, but if Shilo was being honest, he was a pretty far off his game tonight. It had to be the shots he’d been knocking back.

Once Drakken had disappeared, angel boy excused himself, eager to jump up and hurry across the restaurant to have a little chat with a young friend who seemed to be in charge of karaoke tonight.

Shilo jumped when a hand brushed her shoulder, whipping her head one way and then the other to face Drakken as he leaned down on her other side. “How’s the, uh, heh. _ Date? _ Going?” he chuckled, speech slurred and broken, leaning heavily against the table on one elbow. He pointed to her unfinished plate. “Are you going to eat that?”

She snatched the chicken strip he was eyeballing and stuffed it in his mouth. “Here. Choke on it, will you?” she hissed.

“Mmph—thank ya, ma’am.” He drug himself away from her, taking his musky tobacco and alcohol scents with him. “He ain’t got nothin’ on me, you know. You really should bail while you have the chance.” He gave an awkward wink that looked more like he was trying to blink an eyelash out of his eye.

She’d love to punch him, or at least shove his face away. She had to squeeze her untrustworthy hands between her knees instead. “Drakken—”

“I’m just saying,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry I don’t have earplugs for you.” He tossed the last bite of chicken in his mouth as he backed away and saluted her. “I’m out.”

_ “Good,” _ she spat after him. He’d embarrassed her enough. She didn’t need him going the extra mile to tempt her fire to the surface. She glared as he disappeared through the restaurant, and cast a nervous glance across toward Tom, who was still unaware “ _ the freak” _ had been all but draped over her seconds ago.

She shouldn’t have taken Drakken’s warning with a grain of salt. She should have questioned her decision to stay when Thomas had been boasting about being a soprano. The notes he hit could have hurt dog ears, and like his jokes, his number was poorly executed. The deity worship she could take, but if he sang any louder, glasses would be the next thing to start cracking, after his voice.

She had half a mind to dine and dash. She even grabbed her purse off the floor from between her ankles and began looking for an escape route. But Tom was right above her, watching her with a gaze more unnerving than Drakken’s, and sneaking out was sure to ruin any hope of a second date.

As she suffered through the insufferable performance, she weighed how badly she needed a straight-laced young man any father would approve of. Not that she needed her father’s approval. What she _ needed _ was for her brothers to turn a blind eye to Drakken and assume him gone from the picture.

_ “Do it for Drakken,” _ she mouthed to herself dryly as Thomas Thompson finished his indiscernible gospel spiel and received undue applause. She glanced toward the exit Drakken had departed from. She wished she could walk out that easy. He didn’t seem happy with her arrangement with Tom tonight, but big deal. He had nothing to worry about, as far as being shown up went. And it wasn’t just for his sake anyway. She was scoping out valuables. She closed her eyes and tried to replace the aquamarine eyes seared into her brain with a wealth of gems in any color but blue.

She’d endured the heat boiling below the surface this long. When Thomas kindly covered the bill and brought up movie tickets again, she smiled and nodded. A movie. How bad could that be?

As soon as he surmised it, she realized she didn’t want to find out. She would have expected some romantic comedy with religious undertones from the young man walking her out of Westinger Grill, but a sci-fi shouldn’t have been surprising either. Something about it twisted in her stomach though. Aliens and space travel didn’t set great with her on a regular day – not since Lady Fate anyway – but the description the overeager boy beside her gave sounded right up Drakken’s alley.

Leaving the juniper-lined walkway, she caught sight of the brown station wagon still sitting off in the dark parking lot, a window now down despite the chill, and a wispy cloud rising from it drawing her eye like a smoke signal.

“Actually, I should really head home,” she said suddenly, interrupting the boy she’d tuned out several seconds ago. “I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Tom uttered, stopping to stare at her. “I can give you a ride—?”

“Um. No thanks.” She tucked her hands behind her back and backed away quickly. “You’ll be late for that movie. It sounds like you’ve been looking forward to it for a while, so. I’d hate to make you miss it.”

Perched on his little white moped, Thomas scuffed his sneaker on the blacktop. “Can I get your number?” he inquired hopefully.

Her gut twisted. _ No, _ she wanted to say. She’d really rather not hand that out. Yet somehow, “You got a pen?” made it out of her mouth instead. His crystal eyes lit up, and he patted himself down to find a ballpoint in one of his pockets. How convenient.

She didn’t expect it to be handed to her. Her mouth was cotton, and her hands were instantly hot enough she could feel the plastic start to squish between her fingers. To make matters worse, Thomas offered his palm, utterly oblivious to the alien fire building beneath her skin. Her stomach lurched as she reached out with trembling fingers to hold his hand steady and scrawl the string of numbers across his palm.

“I can give you mine?” he offered when she passed the pen back.

“Not a good idea,” she blurted, wringing her hands behind her again and taking a quick step back once more. She didn’t need Drakken finding it that much easier, for one. Second, she didn’t need to burn ink into her skin for a temporary tattoo. She’d done that before by mistake.

“Okay…see you around, Shilo,” said Tom, offering her a warm smile. “Maybe next time I’ll get you up there with the mic. Or bowling. Or whatever.” He shrugged awkwardly and smiled again. “We’ll figure something out. Is next Friday good for—?”

“Can’t,” she said shortly. She combed her fingers through the ponytail flopped over her shoulder. “I mean I have – uhm. I’m busy Friday.” She didn’t know what she’d be busy _ with, _ but she’d figure something out.

She breathed easy again when Thomas Thompson gave an awkward goodbye and rode off. She hadn’t been keen to climb onto the back of a puttering moped anyway, let alone hold onto him. Not yet anyway. “Dodged _ that _ bullet,” she muttered to herself, relieved for now. She wondered if she could keep up the charade though. She’d probably have to ride the stupid little thing eventually, even if she couldn’t say she was eager to see the angel boy again. _ “Do it for Drakken,” _she repeated silently to herself like a mantra as she retreated.

A weirdly off-tune and sluggish wolf-whistle acted as a summons, though not one she particularly appreciated.

With Tom out of sight, she was safe to storm up to the station wagon. Slumped behind the wheel in the dark was Drakken, a cigarette between his lips, cherry burning bright like a beacon.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed at him, leaning in through the window. Her eyes darted down to the fidgeting in his lap, and she would have reeled if freezing weren’t her second instinct.

Drakken held the revolver he’d pulled on her weeks ago in Go City. He was idly popping out the cylinder, giving it a spin, and popping it back in. The chambers were empty. He seemed disappointed by that. She relaxed a little and held out her hand. He sighed and surrendered the firearm.

“Doc—”

“Don’t worry about it,” grumbled Drakken, cigarette bobbing as he spoke. “I’ll feel better after…I dunno. It’ll pass.” He shrugged miserably.

“You’re sure this isn’t about Tom?” she pressed skeptically. She really hoped not. If it was – he was being a huge baby for no reason. She’d have to address it eventually, but preferably not right now when she was at risk of burning up.

Drakken snorted. _ “That’s _ his name?”

“You’re one to talk, _ Drew,” _ she retorted.

He gave a withering sigh and answered her question, admitting, “Not at all, but it doesn’t help.”

“Then what is it?” Shego groused and plucked the half-spent cigarette from his lips to flick it out on the wet pavement and take a drag herself.

Drakken pouted at her, but shook his head and crossed his arms. “Let’s just say, my mother is _ not _ happy with me,” he grumbled.

“Your mama?” She was surprised until she recalled last night and the invitation to a family reunion for Thanksgiving from his mother. “What’s wrong. Is she disowning you?” Maybe she came off just a little too cold because the frightened look the glum man shot her burrowed through her skin to make her wince a little and regret the remark. Bitter resent for her _ own _ deadbeat mother was no reason to wish anyone else to be on bad terms with theirs.

“Don’t even kid like that!” Drakken blurted, looking on the verge of tears. “That’s – that’s – that’s evil, Shego. Low blow.” He pawed his eyes, and she passed the smoke back. Maybe he needed it more than her.

She tossed the revolver into the back and opened the door. “Move over, _ baby. _ I’m driving.”

“No,” he grunted, too stubborn to move his butt. “You don’t even know how to drive stick.”

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath. He had a point.

“Shego, please, there’s a restroom inside,” grumbled the man. Now wasn’t the best time for witticism, but the miserable man got a giggle out of his own immature quip nonetheless. She’d heard enough bad jokes tonight, but kept her complaint on his bathroom humor to herself and shoved him aside.

Shego climbed in, taking his warm place on the bench behind the wheel. “Guess it’s about time I learn, right?” she huffed. “Too drunk to mentor me?”

As she cast a glance across to him, he was already raising a bottle of _ something _ to his lips. She wondered if he’d stolen it from the bar. Thinking twice, he screwed the lid back down and lowered the bottle to the floorboard. “Uhm…”

“Of course you are,” she sighed.

Drakken objected to that statement and followed it up asking if she had a doggie bag. She sighed and forked it over, the boozy man happy to snack on greasy potato wedges and the remaining chicken strip.

Sitting quietly in the chill, she finished off his cigarette as he finished off her leftovers. Just as it had earlier, Drakken’s mood seemed to improve the longer she sat beside him, and he was humming almost happily as he licked his gloved fingers and finally wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Up for California?” he wondered, almost blithe.

Shego sighed. “With you drunk? Don’t think so. Besides, I’m tired. It’s been a crappy day. I wanna go veg out and crash, dude.”

“Can we at least push the car off a cliff first before you call it a night?”

Shego looked across at the hopeful blue man staring back at her. A small smile weaseled onto her lips, mirrored tenfold on his. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	31. Aura of Others – 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellwellwell, it's been a whole dang year since I started sharing this story, if you count starting from Bad Is Good.  
Anywho. I have my own idea of what "the family black sheep" really meant...  
Enjoy and drop a comment if you're not too shy. ♥

Heaving for breath, Shego began to wonder what she was even doing out here in the middle of the damn night. But it would be worth it, Drakken assured her, struggling just as much if not more than her as he strained with his back against the trunk of the stolen station wagon. Her sneakers dug in the gravel as she fought against a vehicle that weighed impossibly too much. She complained about what he’d loaded it up with – _ bricks? _ She’d only been joking, but Drakken giggled like a child and swore it was a surprise.

The front wheels rolled over the peak of the incline, they nearly lost their footing, and finally the rest of the vehicle followed as it rocked at the precipice before teetering over. Drakken fell onto his back, hitting his head on the bumper as the car fell away, and Shego stumbled over his arm flailing out for support, tripped by her boozy companion.

She army-crawled forward as she heard the scrub snapping and whipping against the vehicle, loose rock and earth raining down with it, and just barely peered over the edge as Drakken rolled onto his belly to wriggle forward beside her. He was beaming. She didn’t have to look at him to know when she could see the flash of his pearly whites in her peripheral, even in the dark. He was far too close, warm against her side in the chilly night as they lay in the icy mud, peeking down the steep slope in anticipation.

Drakken dug into his back pocket and pulled out a small device – a remote with an antenna and a flip-top protective cap over a red button. “Would you do the honors?” he chuckled as the vehicle tumbled and crashed with a shatter of glass before rolling ever further down the mountainside.

Curiosity urged her to give the alluring red button a push.

He should have warned her the detonation would be bright, but he’d had quite a lot to drink, and she’d had some of his liquor as well, so she was in just a good enough mood not to complain.

A glaring white ball flashed like lightning before a boom like thunder struck her ears.

She squinted and winced, Drakken beside her covering his head as he cackled in delight above the explosion. The tumbling car turned into a rolling ball of flame and molten metal. Watching it blaze a path through the soggy brush and sparse timber, she couldn’t help musing that it looked just like she felt – only she’d yet to combust. She realized she must have been thinking out loud when the man uttered something questioning in reply, but her ears were still ringing from the blast. As she flicked a glance at him, she was sure the curling warmth in the pit of her stomach was worse than the destroyed vehicle meeting its demise below. She desperately wanted to blame the alcohol, but not badly enough to wipe the smile from her face.

“Why blow it up?” she wondered, maybe speaking a little too loudly. “That’s kinda going overboard, isn’t it?”

Drakken shrugged and tore his eyes off her to stare down the trail blazed down the mountainside. “Villainy 101, sister. Destruct buttons destroy evidence,” he said proudly, tucking the remote back into his pocket. “It was a stolen vehicle after all.”

She couldn’t stave off the smirk as she picked herself up onto her knees. “Clever,” she noted with a squeeze of his shoulder. She wiped her hand on his shirt a moment later when she realized her palms were muddy, but her depressed doctor was too drunk and happy now to even grunt unappreciatively at her. “We should scram now. You know, before the fire department shows up.”

The realization flashed in his eyes and his mouth gawped open. “Ah! Quite right, Shego. A very wise suggestion,” he praised awkwardly as he scrambled and slipped his way to his feet. His eyes skewed at her then, looking her over. “You got my jacket dirty.”

Shego looked down to herself, brushing at the mud and filth smeared across her front, and gave him a light shove that nearly sent him stumbling over the edge. “You would’ve gotten it dirty anyway. Look at yourself!” She hugged his warm suede jacket tighter around herself, making note that she’d have to soon get something lined in sherpa for herself – if she even remembered.

Drakken plucked his bottle of liquor from the roadside where he’d left it, which she all but ripped from his hand as he stumbled along next to her. His soft chuckle near her ear was more than enough to warm her as she took a swig. She wasn’t sure who was responsible for their interlocked hands, but hers was heating up and prickling – but he had leather gloves on, so she didn’t worry too much about it and didn’t shake him off when he squeezed her fingers tighter.

Ambling around in the dark, his scent enveloping her no worse than if she were being gagged by one of his shop-rags she’d worried of smelling like earlier in the night, was remarkably agreeable with her even if every inch of her was burning hotter by the second. She knew she was taking a chance by getting so close, and she knew it was a fool’s bet, but she could only err on the side of caution for so long.

Squinting past the bend in the pitted road riddled with potholes and gravel, she could just barely see the driveway leading to Drakken’s safe house, or so she thought anyway. It was a relief that it was in sight. She couldn’t wait to sink into something soft and maybe watch some television until she fell asleep.

As if there was a need to whisper, Drakken’s breath was in her ear again as he leaned precariously close. She hadn’t been paying attention to what he was saying – scheming about something involving bombs, she was pretty sure – but more importantly, when she turned her head, her nose brushed his cheek. She was just a little too pleasantly buzzed herself to mind the disregard of personal space.

He shook his hand free of hers, and for a split second she was afraid she’d burned him, but his chilly gloved fingers were at her temple then, pushing her hair back so he could search for the cut she’d received last Friday. He gave a thoughtful hum before she elbowed him lightly and he settled for lazily dropping his arm around her shoulders. She couldn’t bring herself to argue with the idle stroke of a thumb or the smirk it brought her as she leaned into him.

As she walked alongside him through the dark, she nearly tripped, she nearly caught on fire, and she nearly popped up on her toes to place her mouth somewhere that might shut him up, hoping he’d keep stoking the inferno – just maybe not the same one that made the rambling man comment on her _ radium freckles _ again as he peered down at her.

Shego sucked in a sharp breath, but it did nothing to cool her off. She didn’t have to reach for it to feel something minuscule in her pocket, but her fingers dug down into it just to make sure it was there. She didn’t really mean to pull it out or eye the tiny white pill in the dark. She especially didn’t mean to let out a tiny disappointed noise when the hand left her shoulder altogether.

Drakken was frowning into the dark now, his dopy grin gone and his handsiness retracted entirely. The fear she might have burned him and warded him off crossed her mind again and was all the incentive she needed in her present hazy state to drop the bitter pill on her tongue and chase it with a sip of liquor she really didn’t need. It went without saying that the sleep aid wasn’t meant to be mixed with alcohol, but if there were ill effects from it, she’d soon find out. She couldn’t risk having yet another villain getting his hands on it anyway, she rationalized to herself.

Grabbing his hand again, she pulled it back around her shoulders. He didn’t push her away, so that was probably a good sign, she decided to herself with a nod, even if his arm felt colder and heavier than before.

Stumbling around in the dark with a nice buzz, pushing cars off cliffs, detonating bombs – it sure beat insufferable jokes and wishing for earplugs at karaoke. Who needed an angel boy with heavenly eyes to show her the light when she had a paying advocate for mischief at her side who could dazzle her just as well with homemade explosives? She’d spent at least an hour earlier – surely longer than she’d even spent at karaoke with angel boy – spieling her complaints in the midst of learning the ropes to get the stolen station wagon up the mountain before it broke down. Happily intoxicated, Drakken had laughed through most of the night as he drug her down the same indulgent path with the occasional offer, and Shego was thankful there weren’t nearly as many patrol cars in the little oasis town as there were in Go City, or they would have been busted for sure.

Drakken mumbled something. Her name, maybe, or close to it anyway. His dark eyes were still fixed dead ahead, and suddenly she noticed he’d gone tense.

“Waddisit?” she slurred out. The bottle slipped from her fingers and broke on the pavement. She swore. She didn’t want to believe the medication was hitting her so soon. There was still a ways to walk – but surely close enough she could reach a safe place to crash before she did something especially stupid, or maybe a safe place to _ do _ something especially stupid she otherwise couldn’t sober. She inwardly chastised herself for the thought ever crossing her mind.

“Nothing,” Drakken mumbled. “Nothing. It can’t be.” He shook his head, disheveled hair flopping around his face, still damp and sticky from an earlier drizzle. She let him slip away so he could take a few hasty steps ahead of her, picking up his pace as he ambled down the dark mountain road.

A disappointed sigh escaped Shego’s unzipped lips without her say-so. “Can’t be what?” she wondered, straightening up and squaring her shoulders, determined not to let the absence of his arm around them get her down so easy.

“I said _ it’s nothing!” _ Drakken grouched back at her, and his frown smoothed out slightly. It clearly wasn’t _ nothing _ if it had him lashing out and swaggering over to the side of the road, wrapping an arm around his stomach as he let out a groan. The man doubled over suddenly and hurled. Then again, maybe it was just the alcohol, she decided.

Shego stood behind him for a moment, contemplating leaving him there to throw his guts up in relative privacy or continuing on her way to the lair. Remembering about the pill in her own stomach now, she opted for walking on after giving his back a couple of not-so-ginger pats. It was only a matter of time before she collapsed. Popping a pill so soon had been a stupid mistake. She’d underestimated how far the lair was. Why had she even brought the stupid pill at all? What did she think she’d need it for? She shook her head to herself.

As she trudged on, she recognized the approaching sound of an engine Drakken must have heard a minute before her, what with his big ears and all. She couldn’t place it. It didn’t sound right for the standard car, yet surely couldn’t belong to anything larger like a firetruck. She caught a glimpse of a single light then, and for a second she feared the angel boy on his way up the mountain with his little moped. She blinked and shook the absurd notion out of her head and surmised it was a motorcycle.

A motorcycle which was pulling into their driveway.

Her stomach flip-flopped as she corrected the thought.

Drakken’s driveway. A motorcycle was pulling into _ Drakken’s _ driveway.

If any of the henchmen even _ owned _ a motorcycle, it was news to her. Who else would have business out this way at this time of night was beyond her.

Drakken cursed in alarm between heaves and then he was jogging right past Shego a moment later. She didn’t have time to articulate a question before he was far enough away she’d have to shout, so she held her tongue and quickened her pace after the woozy rogue.

As they hurried up the driveway to the gate, Shego could see the lock had already been cut or picked or whatever the case, the gate was _ open, _ and across the blacktop parked by the side entry of the whopping garage was the motorcycle.

“Oh no, no, no,” Drakken groaned. He whirled in front of Shego with his hands up to stop her. “You – you’ve gotta go. I shouldn’t be here. Can – uhm – can we hide at your place? Pretty please?” His smile was forced and fake and didn’t do a very good job of charming her into letting him get his way.

“Are you kidding me, Doc?” she scoffed, shoving his halting hands aside. “Not a chance. I’m not gonna make it.” It was the unfortunate truth. She’d definitely jumped the gun by taking the narcotic so soon.

In the dark, she saw his brow quirk at her. “I _ told _ you to use the restroom at—”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh! Drakken. Who’s here? Do you know ‘em or should I be ready to fight?” If he needed her unique service, it had to be now or never.

“Please, don’t – put those away.”

“Don’t put them away or just _ don’t _ in general?” she teased over her shoulder, though her patience was starting to wear thin.

Drakken whined for her, and then snapped her name under his breath in the most commanding tone he could manage while so tipsy. He jumped in front of her again and pointed sternly to the gate. “You need to leave.”

She crossed her arms. “Why?”

_ “Drew Lipsky!” _ came a shrill shout from inside the garage, and the pounding of a fist on the entry to the subterranean lair rang above it. “You open this door at once!”

The grown man winced at the whining call of a woman. “That’s why,” he hissed. “Please—”

Her hand snapped out to grab a fistful of his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere,” she hissed back, tugging him along. “It’s late as hell. It’s cold. I’m tired.” She couldn’t admit she’d just taken the addictive suppressant drug she’d only _ just _gotten off of, or that it was due to knock her out for the count within the next thirty minutes.

Drakken grunted, and jerked away from her, taking a couple big steps ahead of her. “Then stay out of sight. I’m not – I’m not explaining _ you, _ o-or any of this to her. Not tonight! Not ever!”

“So who’s here, anyway?” she wondered, still following but giving him some space now.

Another quiet peeved noise, a frown over his shoulder, and a curt, “Zip it,” was the last thing he said to her before hurrying into the garage.

Shego slipped along the wall toward the open side entry, passing the classy motorcycle in shades of scarlet and chrome. She heard the pounding of the fist on the lair door interrupted by the clearing of Drakken's throat, followed by a long pause.

Too dissatisfied to be left out of the loop, she dared to take a peek inside. Past Dr. Drakken, she could just see the shape of a small woman. “Let me get that for you,” he told her, skirting around the visitor dressed in leather biker gear.

Shego had to assume the woman was none other than his mother, or at least a relative, given the sheer family resemblance in the facial department. The astounded lady was silent and analytical as he unlocked the door, until finally she ventured, “Drew?”

Drakken went rigid but said nothing – nothing pertaining to the name anyway. “Right this way,” he said, as a doctor would to a patient. The unexpected guest had sobered him up quick, but he could sound as respectful and sober as any real doctor – it wouldn’t help him come off any more professional with mud smeared all over him from falling down while shoving the car off the mountain just minutes ago.

The plump little biker woman was otherwise quiet as Dr. Drakken led her into his lair. Needing to find a place to lie down _ soon, _ Shego risked following at a distance, slipping silently up the stone-carved stairs and through the corridor behind them. The lab was dark – which she could see Dr. Drakken breathe a sigh of relief for – and he made a quick cut through it to his living quarters to hold open the door for the perturbed mother giving him the strangest of looks as she entered.

The woman was clearly still set on clarifying that the strange blue man was what had really become of her boy. Learning of a freakish change hadn't gone over particularly well with her own mother, so Shego could only hope for a better outcome as the woman repeated firmly, _ “Drew.” _ It was less of a question and more of a statement.

“Actually, it’s Dr. Drakken,” corrected the rogue, following his mother in.

Shego's foot caught the door before it could shut. She peeked in just in time to see the woman sitting down at one of the bar stools and Drakken slipping into the kitchen to scrub his grimy arms clean. It was otherwise silent until he turned around, brandishing a bag of specialty coffee for the woman. “Your favorite,” he said feebly, wearing a forced smile on his face.

“You _ are _ Drew,” uttered his mother. He busied himself with the coffee pot until the demanding woman ordered him, “Drew. Come over here and let me look at you.”

As Drakken slowly turned to face the woman, his somber stare darted up to Shego peeping in, and his eye twitched in the barest hint of agitation. So she ducked a little further out of view, just out of courtesy, but once he was standing before his mother and the shell-shocked woman had grabbed him by the face, Shego snuck inside, taking the chance while the guest was distracted.

“Oh, honey,” breathed the tiny curly-haired lady. “What in the world did you get yourself into this time?”

As Shego snuck by behind the unsuspecting woman, not exactly thinking through what she was doing, she didn’t miss Drakken’s glance cast toward her again. “It's a long story,” he muttered.

“Well, I’m listening and I’m not getting any younger here,” his mother chastised. “You better start. How did this happen? And, honey, when did you get this?” Shego didn't have to glance back to know what the woman was reaching for, but she did anyway. Her stomach twisted in guilt as Mrs. Lipsky inspected the scar she’d left carved into the rogue doctor’s face some years ago.

The guilt dissipated as she reached the nook hiding his bedroom entrance. The foggy old memory made her smirk now to think the abductor she'd wounded as a frightened kid was the same dismal man who'd smiled so warmly at her tonight. And not only that, he was the same man whose room she was sneaking into to seek refuge now. Things had a funny way of changing.

She leaned back on the door and listened for a minute, but couldn’t quite decipher the muffled conversation between a self-proclaimed mad scientist and his tiny biker mother. Something about big top-secret plans for the future of humanity and a broken promise in order to rush over to the oasis in the middle of the night to check on him.

Kicking away from the door, Shego patted the wall around the doorframe in search of a light switch, to no avail. She almost tried clapping her hands in case it was clap-activated – but stopped herself in time, reminding herself she had to be sneaky. She lit her hands instead – and remembered she only needed one to light the way – and held the fading glow out ahead of her as she navigated across the swollen waterway. She muttered to herself that the man needed to install railings or pathway lights of some sort, and wondered what he’d think of the evil atmosphere green aquatic lights might offer.

An open door – or rather, a gaping hole of darkness – drew her eye, and she gravitated toward it. It must have been intuition that led her to a walk-in closet. She ran into the pull-cord before she saw it, and winced at the blinding light that flooded the little room of shelves and racks. Taking it in, she swore he owned more clothes than he’d ever need, and almost envied his fortune to own such an expansive wardrobe. Few things of her own lasted more than a couple of months, as everything but her specialized gear was burned to some degree eventually, and the tendency had gotten regrettably worse since running away with Drakken.

Picking through his closet and careful not to disturb much, she found a hamper to drop his muddy jacket beside. Her dirt-encrusted jeans followed. There were enough sweatpants hung up that he couldn’t possibly notice an ambiguous grey pair missing, though her face burned as she considered she probably should have asked to borrow some the other night.

Shego found the lamp above the bed just as her glow had grown too dim to see by, and she tried to wait patiently, sitting up at the edge the bed regardless of how drowsy she was becoming. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, and was just beginning to nod off when the door opened.

She rolled her head on her shoulders as she fixed an inquiring heavy-lidded gaze on Drakken shuffling in. He was wide-eyed and looked alarmed – the polar opposite of her increasingly dopy state – and he opened his mouth as if to gripe her name, but shut it again. His hands were balled into fists as he stalked across the little bridge and into the closet.

“I see you’re making yourself at home,” he hissed when he came back out, bedding stuffed under one arm and one of his robes on a hangar draped over the other.

Shego only smirked at his back as he hurried back out just as his bedroom door began to creak open. Her heart gave a small lurch and she hoped she hadn’t been spotted perched on the corner of her boss’s bed by her boss’s mother. She wasn’t ready to explain herself right now. Not tonight. Not ever.

Flopping back and throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the light was a mistake. Not because she began to doze off again the second she did, but because she missed Drakken’s return and the _ kersplash! _ that announced it.

“Gah—shi—_ doodles!” _ he sputtered, choking on water.

Shego found just enough energy to push herself onto an elbow to watch the blue man heave himself out of the diminutive canal on the brink of overflowing, sopping wet and blinded by the loss of his glasses. She chuckled softly. If she weren’t too tired to laugh herself silly, her laughter would have given herself away to his guest.

Drakken knelt for a minute, shaking his hair out like a wet dog and feeling around on the floor to find the glasses he’d lost. “I hate this goddamn—”

“Th’moat’s cool,” she said. Thought she said, anyway. She was pretty sure it came out a garbled mumble, but Drakken must have understood her well enough.

“You think so?”

“Mm-hm.” She dropped down on her side and barely saw him blow a raspberry and futilely paw specks of water off his lenses. Her heavy eyelids fell shut as she watched him wringing himself out.

Before she knew it, she was being nudged, and pulled a little bit too. He was saying something she didn’t quite catch but took a guess as to what was being requested of her. Barely capable of complying, she shifted, hopefully in the right direction. To her relief, her head found a pillow, and then Drakken was dry and smelling soapy and hovering over her. He seemed concerned. In the fleeting moment of consciousness, she barely formed the thought that there _ was _ something to be concerned about.

The dosage was stronger than before.

She wasn’t concerned for long.


	32. Aura of Others – Or Lack Thereof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHORT CHAPTER IS SHORT.  
Just something to worry the good Doctor.

Drakken had done his best to accommodate his guests and endure catching up with his mother, which consisted mostly of getting an earful for two straight hours. Letting his mother talk was probably for the best. He wasn’t ready to explain certain accidents in detail anyway.

Finally, he wished his mother goodnight and retired for the night, only to find Shego had, once again, shifted in her sleep to lie diagonally across his bed. She was far from lucid, even if she awoke briefly each time he nudged her awake to set her straight. He hadn’t let her have  _ that  _ much, had he?

Drakken made sure she was as far as reasonably possible before cautiously climbing in on the far side himself. Lights off. Eyes shut. She was far enough away, he could have ignored her.

Contrary to the last time, Shego evidently didn’t feel like being ignored.

There was a  _ thump  _ on the mattress in the space between them, and Drakken cracked his tired eyes open to scowl at the ceiling for a long moment before casting a sidelong glance toward her. By the dim glow of the clock, he could just barely make out Shego’s outstretched arm, fingers reaching toward him. He felt around on the headboard above him for his glasses to take a better look, and sure enough, Shego’s eyes were open, albeit still droopy. She drummed her fingers almost impatiently.

After a watchful moment, Drakken sighed and met her halfway. Her fingers were cold. Were her hands normally so cold?

Shego’s eyes shut again, a faint smile playing on her lips. Another minute passed before the smile fell and presumably she fell asleep with it.

Deeming it safe to retract his hand, Drakken folded them over his chest and returned to studying the darkness above him.

His eyes stung, yet he was too ill at ease to sleep. Not with his mother in the other room, and not with his accomplice lying across the bed from him. There was no telling how long he lay there awake, refusing to acknowledge the clock as he listened to nothing but Shego’s quiet breathing and the flow of the stream, before he succumbed to the beck and call of a restless mind. He flicked on the lamp without thinking. Lab work was out of the question, but he had a notebook he could at least scratch down notes to himself in.

He didn’t get that far.

She caught him off guard. He’d been sure she was asleep.

He thought he was being careful not to disturb her when he leaned over – Shego had claimed his usual spot, so naturally his pen and pad were above her – but then her hands snapped out, fists balling up in his shirt to yank him down before he could jump back. Biting back a surprised yelp, Drakken’s breath caught in his throat as her mouth collided with it, graceless and nearly forceful enough to choke him. It wasn't so much a kiss as it was a grin against his windpipe, but it didn't change the fact she was too close.

Whatever idle thoughts he'd meant to jot down flew out the window and out of his reach as his eyelids fell shut for a brief moment. Her fingers might have been chilly at the nape of his neck but her mouth was warm, and her low sleepy chuckle against his skin sent yet more warmth flooding in the wrong direction.

She nuzzled the crook of his neck and his heart stuttered.

Whether it was a case of cold feet or snapping back to his senses, Drakken jerked backwards when he felt her breath on his face as she tried pulling herself up. Even as inebriated as she was, Shego didn't let go of his shirt, and he wrangled with her hands but her grip was vice-like. She made a small noise of disappointment as he slipped out of the shirt like a lizard shedding its tail to escape.

As Drakken tumbled out of bed, he crossed his fingers the intoxicated woman left behind wouldn't remember his panicked escape come morning. Heart hammering, he all but fled from his own room, casting a glance back at Shego as he left. His accomplice was already dropping back to the pillows, pulling his stolen shirt to her face like a child cuddling her favorite blanket. She almost looked sad – but he decided the somber expression was probably due to nodding off again already. She’d been acting peculiar and in and out of consciousness – if it could even be called that – all night.

He hoped a few minutes quietly spent in the kitchen would be sufficient, waiting on Shego to fall asleep once more as he gulped down a glass of water and helped himself to a bag of shredded cheddar. Every small noise sounded ten times louder at this time of night, knowing his mother of all people was snoring on his couch across the cavern. It seemed the only one who couldn’t sleep tonight was him.

Leaned against the counter, nibbling away, he contemplated retreating to an open room in the henchmens' dorms for the night. But he shook his head and dismissed the thought with a sigh. Someone had to keep his mother and his accomplice separated at all costs, and he was the only one fit for the job.

Five long minutes passed before he dared to creep up to his own bedside once again. Bag of cheese still in hand as he snacked on it like popcorn, he warily watched Shego sleep – hoping like mad she was in fact asleep this time – scanning for any sure sign it was safe to return to bed. His head was pounding, and Shego very clearly wasn't in a sound state of mind herself – but the thought of her too close just minutes ago haunted him and sent another shiver down his spine. He tried to rub away the phantom sensation before climbing back in.

Not quite as abrupt as before, Shego's eyes opened and Drakken froze once again. She sat up slowly, unsteadily, eyeing him, but her focus had now shifted. Before he could object or evade her, she lunged forward to grab the bag of cheese, retreating to the center of the bed to hunch over the bag and all but inhale cheese by the handful. It was something of a grotesque display, but he supposed he must have let her have more than her share of alcohol tonight, so he turned a blind eye and resigned himself to laying on the very edge of his own bed while his companion cursed under her breath through mouthfuls of cheddar.

At least the cheese kept her busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As GoForDrakgo has tenderly put it, Shego is high off her ass, pretty much. Throwin' that out there, in case it wasn't clear enough.


	33. Aura of Others – 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woops...another short chapter. My bad. Might I offer [Morning Glory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040232) in apology?  
Next is longer, promise.

Soon enough, the beeping of the alarm clock that didn’t belong to her woke her. Even if she’d wanted to wake up, fighting off sleep when someone hit the blessed snooze button was impossible given the sleep aid still in her system. She groaned wretchedly when the beeping sounded off again, and blearily hoped hearing it wouldn’t become the norm. She didn’t mind the bed or the poofy bedding or anything else – but that clock could go to hell.

Shego pulled herself up onto the mount of pillows and collapsed before she could reach the accursed clock to mangle it. It was Saturday. She didn’t have to wake up at any set time on a Saturday. If Drakken wanted to, that was great. But he wasn’t going to get her up with a mere grouchy order to do so and a shake of her shoulder.

He was given the middle finger in reply – enough to let him know she was aware of his attempt to wake her, and enough to let him know she wasn’t ready to be woken.

The mattress shifted. And shifted again. And – he was bouncing. The imbecile madman was bouncing next to her, like a petulant twerp trying to get her up for the day, bouncing on his knees and disjointedly enunciating her name to make sleep  _ definitely _ impossible.

“Knock it off, Wes—Will— _ Drakken!”  _ she snarled and grabbed one of the numerous pillows to strike him with. The force plowed him sideways.

Just as she turned to glare in his direction, the gesture was returned, thwapping her upside the head. Hand snapping out in reflex, she caught the pillow, feeling the fabric rip. It certainly did the trick to wake her.

When the surprise wore off a split-second later, she shot daggers up at Drakken. His eyes flew wide and he released the gutted pillow and threw his hands up as he realized he’d made a grave mistake by hitting her back, even as harmless as it was. He sprang back as she lunged at him. She wasn’t sure what she was going for – his throat to wring his neck? – but she’d underestimated the size of the bed and felt stupid crawling after him instead. She managed to give him a shove though, only to come toppling off the edge of the bed gracelessly with him.

Drakken let out a squeal. She’d heard the shrill sound before, but it was especially startling when his eyes bugged behind his glasses and he curled up with her fingers still dug into his sides, his knee catching her in the stomach. Tangled in the sheets drug with them, she pushed against him in a scrambling effort to break free, but each inadvertent poke and prod drew a strangled laugh or squeak from him.

Perturbed, Shego deliberately reached under an arm before she could convince herself she didn’t want to go there.

Sure enough, he jerked and writhed and sucked in air and swore at her, “Dammit – Shego – stop it! I’ve got a pounding headache.” His smile was more of a grimace as she snuck in another probing tip-tap along his side, and his arms clamped down tight. She could believe the headache part. He may have laughed, but he didn’t look like he found the experience particularly enjoyable. Still, it was hard to believe what she was seeing.

“You can’t  _ seriously _ be ticklish,” she criticized, kneeling over him.

Drakken gasped for air, still wincing against his hangover. “I’m not,” he practically wined in defense. “Not usually. I-I mean. You’re not?” She didn’t have to answer that. He was only trying to shift the subject away from his unconvincing lie.

Yet she answered anyway. “Nope,” she popped. Just as she sat back, he got a peculiar look in his eye that made it hard to believe he really had a headache after all. Maybe he was a better liar than she thought. “Doc. Doc,  _ don’t –  _ don’t even think about it!”

As he began to sit up, a crooked smile crossed his face and his fingers teased the air in threat. It was a little too creepy for her taste. If she weren’t still under the influence of her suppressant, she would have burned him when she caught him by the wrists, pinning them to his gut and driving the wind out of him as she shoved him back down.

Drakken wheezed as she scowled down at him. His glasses sat crooked on his nose and his hair had dried in a total mess. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. She really wished he was wearing a shirt. He blew a puff in defeat and grumbled, “Fine. But I’d still like to test that theory.”

It wasn’t a theory. It was a fact. And even if it wasn’t a fact – it was still too hazardous to test. Then again, she was medicated. Shego scoffed. “Not by groping me, you aren’t,” she scoffed.

“I wasn’t—!” he began in defense and grunted through grit teeth as he let his head drop to the floor. He winced at the impact and skewed his frown back up at her. She should get up and go – any time now would be good – but she stayed hovered over him, securing his hands safely to his belly. Her eyes cut back up to his as he asked, “Can I guess—?”

“Guess all you want.” She lurched back, releasing him as if  _ he’d _ burned  _ her. _ “I’m not— _ hey!” _ The instant she let go, before the denial could leave her lips, swift fingers skittered up her sides to her armpits. The fleeting feathery touch caused a bigger reaction than she could have anticipated, and she couldn’t be sure she liked it as she seized and squirmed at the same time. A strangled yelp no more elegant than his ticklish squeals escaped her throat and she wanted nothing more than to kick him for it.

The man sat up with her and chuckled proudly, until she caught the offending hands to squeeze them, her nails digging into the backs. His smirk didn’t yield as she ground out in warning, “You’re playing with fire, Doc.” If only she had the firepower at the moment to prove her point.

“I know.” Drakken’s arrogant shit-eating grin was ultimately too close – but that was perhaps on her, given she was technically in his lap. If it weren’t for rank morning breath, she might not have been so opposed to it.

Shego jerked back and let go as she shifted away, untangling herself once and for all from the bedsheets wound up around them.  _ “Ugh,”  _ she groaned, waving a hand in front of her face. “Were you midnight-snacking on  _ cheese?” _ she accused.

His smile fell and his face tinged purple – a deeper purple, anyway. “You’re one to talk!” he snapped back, getting to his knees and frowning up at her. “You took the bag for yourself and fell asleep on it.”

“I did?” she blurted, following his gesture toward the bed. Sure enough, a bag of cheddar in the sheets stood testimony, as did the shredded cheese flattened to her shirt... or rather, Drakken’s shirt – the same faded concert tee from the other night – worn over her own. She had no recollection of any midnight cheese indulgences. Her face burned as she wondered what other indulgences she might have had – but she didn’t ask aloud.

Mostly because Drakken was grumbling in addition, “And you snore. Loudly.”

She was already flustered. She didn’t need him rubbing anything else in. “Wow,” she scoffed. “Turn down the charm, will ya?”

“One of us has to make up for the difference.” He smoothed back his disheveled hair and pointed a finger-gun her way. He scratched his neck then and peered around her just as she began to turn away. “Uhm. Don’t go out there.”

“Why not?”

“My mother’s asleep on the couch.”

Shego paused. “Your mother?”

“Yes,” he said and began to explain with an excess of sporadic hand gestures. “You know. The mother who showed up unannounced in the middle of the night last night because I got in a teeny-tiny little argument with her yesterday over the phone, and it turns out my cousin’s wife gave her my address and now she’s here. That mother.”

Shego rubbed her temples.  _ “Oof,”  _ she breathed. She hardly remembered any of it. Certainly no mention of a heated phone call or his cousin’s wife. “She rode a motorcycle here, right?”

“Yes.”

“Rad.”

Drakken clearly didn’t think so, by the shudder he gave. “She may not look it, but she’s a bat out of hell on wheels. She must have been furious if she broke her oath not to ride again, let me tell you.” He cracked a flimsy smile, but it was far from genuine. “I was scared shitless last night.”

Shego crossed her arms and glanced between the door and him again. Her eyes fell on the clock above the bed. It was only a quarter past six in the morning. It had been around midnight when she’d collapsed in his bed. The bedding was a disaster now, but it was still tempting to pull a blanket over herself and dissolve back into it, cheese or no cheese.

Instead, Drakken was passing her, patting her shoulder and lowering his voice to advise she meet him in the garage –  _ without  _ being seen.


	34. Aura of Others – 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _HEY, MICKEY, YOU'RE SO FINE, YOU'RE SO FINE YOU—_ I mean. Uh.  
Enjoy the chapter. >_>  
And drop a comment maybe, if you're feeling generous. ♥

Shego counted herself lucky to have slipped past Drakken’s snoring mother that morning, even if she wasn’t convinced the woman wasn’t faking it.

On the ride into town, her driver gushed his relief that the impromptu reunion had gone better than he could have hoped, even if it wasn’t over yet. Her crossed arms, frown out the window, and small grunts of acknowledgment must have given him a clue to shut up about his mom. She didn’t mean to be envious of his mother’s acceptance, but it was hard not to be. 

He mumbled a vague apology of, “I’m sorry. I’ll…I’ll be quiet now,” which only made her wonder inwardly what he was apologizing for – for talking her ear off or for her own mother abandoning her for becoming a freak?

Either way, she was even unhappier to notice lights were still out in her neighborhood. She scarcely recalled overhearing about the weather knocking out the power last night. Drakken smiled feebly as he pulled to the curb, sparing another sheepish apology, but Shilo rolled her eyes and hopped out of the van before he could propose anything else she’d have to decline. Before she slammed her door shut, he assured her that he’d phone her when the coast was clear, quipping that it was _her _turn to avoid _his _family. His humor didn’t lighten her mood.

As expected, her dingy studio apartment was freezing, only now there was no electricity to heat it with. She sighed wretchedly, and as she reached for a candle on her dresser, she came to the aggravating realization she had no glow at her disposal to light it with. She skewed her face and focused and concentrated – but no amount of willpower could produce even the tiniest flicker of green plasma from her fingertip. She didn’t even own a lighter or matches. She’d never needed them before. Suddenly she wished she had a cigarette, but not badly enough to bum a smoke from her slimy downstairs neighbor.

Groaning hugely, Shilo kicked off her muddy shoes and threw herself down into her cold bed to bundle up in a cocoon of blankets and force herself back to sleep in hopes of sleeping off the effects of the pill.

Taking it at all had been a huge mistake. She scolded herself that she’d never take it again. She swore she’d flush them all down the toilet to make sure of it.

It slipped her mind when she woke up.

She came around to the sound of a laugh track, as the television in the apartment below her was blasting some sitcom. Across the room, her alarm clock blinked, begging to be set. And worst of all, her stomach pleaded with her, scolding her from the inside out for not taking Drakken’s offer earlier to stop at Cow-n-Chow for flapjacks.

Shilo groaned and curled up tighter for a minute before extending an arm out over the edge of the bed and willing plasma into her palm. To her relief, it bubbled to life on command. She sighed anyway, deciding that was her sign to get out of bed and light some scented candles to stave off the musty odors of mildew.

The sky outside was bleak. She made note to pick up an analog clock from Smarty Mart because either rainclouds were promising another downpour or daylight was waning by the time she’d washed and dried her hair. She hoped she hadn’t squandered her day too badly.

In any case, she inspected her closet, considering what she might wear for an evening excursion around town for a little window-shopping and possibly shoplifting. She was just weighing her options of raiding the Quarter Quarts or pulling the stolen grey sweatpants back on when the trill of the telephone made her jump.

Her hands sparked. As of yet, few phone calls had been good. Either it was Buckley’s girls calling to hound her, or the punk guest she’d evicted, or her brothers – or whoever it was, she wasn’t eager to find out. She would have been happy to unplug the phone, but she wrung her fingers to get her nerves under control before snatching it off the hook on the last ring.

She waited a moment but was met with silence and static in return. Finally she offered a cautious, “Hello?”

She recognized Drakken’s huge relieved sigh on the other end. He must have been waiting to be sure it was her who picked up. An odd giggle followed, and she waited patiently for him to reel in his gleeful laughter. “She’s gone!” he all but shouted. “And I’m good! I’m in the clear – this time – she’s not making me go to the – oh, Shego, you have no idea,” he sputtered. An incoherent noise in rejoice was interrupted by another boyish laugh.

Humming in acknowledgment, Shilo leaned over as far as the cord would allow to take a peek into her fridge. It had stayed cold during the outage, but it wasn’t well-stocked. Eggs, cheese, a carton of milk, yogurt – nothing particularly promising for anything more than breakfast, though the bag of cheese was tempting to nibble on.

“So, your night’s free?” she asked hopefully just as soon as she could get a word in. Something to do – anything at all – would be a relief from listening to the insistent _drip…drip…drip_ of a leaky roof and pipes.

Drakken had been spouting off about cousin this, cousin that, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be attending a family gathering with _his_ career path and looking the way he did – but now he stopped short. “F-free? My night. Uhm. I. Uh. I can clear my schedule. S-sure,” he stuttered. There was a small whimper as if he were biting his tongue. “But you aren’t going to get any booze out of me, you know. That was it – that was the _last time._ You really freaked me out yesterday.”

Alcohol in the equation surely didn’t help, but it wasn’t solely to blame for her state last night. He couldn’t know that though. Nonetheless, Shilo smirked to herself and leaned back on the counter. The thought of bumming off him hadn’t crossed her mind, and she probably wouldn’t have asked her senior cohort for any anyway, but she might not have turned down an offer either. Last night – as far as she could remember anyway – had been cutting it far too close. Leaving intoxication out of the picture was probably for the best, even if it had been a blast and led to shoving a car off a cliff and feeling pretty nice with his arm around her—

She bit her lip and wound a finger around the cord. “Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “So, California. You game?” She could use a change of scenery and a nice little road trip to get out of the oasis town.

Drakken was perky as he broke it to her. “There’s no rush. New intel came in this morning. It was only a practice run. It turns out his seismic generator is still on the fritz since you brought the roof down on it.”

Her shoulders slumped and a sigh slipped out. “Oh. Bummer.”

_“Bummer?”_ echoed Drakken. “This is a good thing, Shego. It means—”

“No, I know. It’s just…” She quirked her mouth and idly twirled the cord around another finger. Calling off the road trip didn’t bother her – until now anyway. Suddenly, with another drizzle beginning to patter on the roof as she looked about her little shoebox of an apartment, going to the coast had some appeal. She didn’t realize how homesick she was for the sound of seagulls and crashing waves until now. “I was looking forward to going to the beach, I guess.”

Before Drakken could reply, the _ding-dong_ of the doorbell interrupted. Shilo muttered for him to hold that thought and set the phone aside, quietly approaching the door as she racked her brains for who her visitor might be. Mrs. Landlady, most likely, but that angel boy Thomas Thompson probably knew where she lived now thanks to Hugo, and so did Buckley’s girls. She wasn’t eager to see any of them outside – and as she peeked through the peephole, she wasn’t disappointed.

No one in sight, she frowned at the door and began to back away. No sooner did she take a step back did the bell ring again, and this time she cracked the door open as far as the chain would allow. No one was ducked out of sight of the peephole, and in fact she found no one standing outside on the landing at all.

Her brow scrunched as the doorbell rang yet again when she returned to the phone. “Hey, handyman.” _Ding-dong._ “I think my _doorbell’s_ on the fritz. Maybe you can take a look at it.” _Ding-dong. _“Should be easier to fix than a seismic whatever.”

Drakken grunted unhappily, but grumbled a curt, _“Alright. _See you in—” _Ding dong._ “Oh, that _is_ annoying.”

“Tell me about it,” Shilo muttered as she hung up and cast a glare toward the door.

The bell rang once more, and Shilo stood in her kitchen for several long moments, waiting and watching the door as if any movement at all would set it off. It was silly, she decided, shaking her head as she crossed the room to comb her hair before her vanity mirror. The buggy doorbell had to be due to the damn leaky roof or the rats in the walls screwing with the wiring.

No sooner did she decide the doorbell must have finally died did it ring again.

Gritting her teeth, she leapt up from her spot at the dining table. Barely soothing her aggravation before sparks could fly from her fists, she reminded herself it was probably just Drakken. He was due to show up any time now.

To her relief – somewhat – Drakken was on the other side after all when she flung the door open. He was just raising his knuckles to knock, his brow scrunched together.

“Did you ring the doorbell?” she blurted, hardly relaxing at the sight of him.

“No,” he said, perturbed. It wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear.

“Are you sure?”

_“Shego,”_ he sighed. A roll of his eyes and he rang the doorbell for himself. “I don’t see what the problem is,” he said dismissively, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Maybe the button was stuck.”

She’d like to think so. She leaned out, catching him by the arm as she stole a glance about, and pulled him in. “Did you bring any tools, just in case?”

“I have a Phillips,” he said helpfully, producing a small screwdriver from his back pocket, probably taken straight from the van glove box. He glanced back toward the open door and nodded toward the buggy doorbell. “You _could _put a pin in it and come check out the new foosball table in the rec room,” he suggested, smiling with the barest hint of hope.

“Wow, that does sound tempting,” she mocked. Her brow furrowed curiously as she caught a whiff of something sweet on him, and she scoffed. “Your mama’s been baking for you, hasn’t she?” _Maple_ was a lot nicer than oil and elbow grease, except it reminded her that she was famished.

“For the whole crew, actually,” confirmed Drakken with a sheepish chuckle. “You should’ve been there.”

Shilo crossed her arms and glanced back toward the doorbell that clearly wasn’t getting fixed anytime soon. “Funny,” she shot back, kicking the door shut. “You didn’t want her knowing about me earlier.” Not that she particularly wanted his mother knowing about her, or to have to pretend she was merely some sort of nurse or assistant or receptionist – or _worse,_ a cleaning lady. She sure as hell wasn’t one of the Dr. Drakken’s patients.

His smile fell and he scowled. “Oh, be reasonable. I had enough to explain and I barely got off the hook as it is. Right now, she bought the cockamamie story that I’m a psychiatrist and the henchmen are my patients, and that’s good enough.”

“So, the whole lair and Hench-brand jumpsuits thing didn’t seem unusual at all, huh? It’s not exactly the typical madhouse you’re running there, Doc,” she teased.

Drakken relaxed and flashed her a smile. “She just thinks I’m _eccentric,” _he said with a flippant gesture to himself. His smile wavered and he cleared his throat then, nodding to the door Shilo was about to chain shut out of habit. “The doorbell doesn’t seem to be acting up anymore. You didn’t by chance have any plans or a reason for calling me out here this early, did you? Because I am a busy man, you know.”

“We could still go to California,” she suggested off the top of her head. “Just for the hell of it. Hit a few places along the way.” The thought of warm sand and making use of hotel perks like a hot tub was as appealing as a change of scenery.

He grunted. “We’d be pushing it too close. And I’m not giving up another of my family recipes to buy you another day off from Buckley’s. Not so soon anyway.”

“Stingy,” she scoffed. The interrupting _ding-dong_ of the doorbell earned a groan of frustration from her. She gestured to the door and all but whined, _“Drakken.”_

The man snorted and crossed his arms, nose up almost snootily. “I’m not your handyman.”

“You were when I moved here,” retorted Shilo.

After a long stubborn pause, he blew a raspberry and grumbled, “Alright, alright,” with his hands up in forfeit, screwdriver in one. “I’ll see what I can do—oh _snap.” _Just as she’d turned to retreat to the kitchen table to watch him troubleshoot, the door slammed shut and Drakken was scurrying around as if to hide behind her. “You have a visitor,” he hissed, spinning her back toward the door.

Her heart sank and she lowered her voice, uttering the obvious question, “Who?” If it was her brothers again, she was screwed – but if it was them, Hugo would have knocked the door down by now. Thomas Thompson, or Buckley, or any of Buckley’s girls crossed her mind, but any of them would have been preferable to who she opened up to find standing outside.

She stared down at a petite blonde decked out in too much pink – and before she could give it more than a second to process, Shilo drew back a fist to deck the girl, missing by a hair’s breadth as the visitor bent backward against the railing with a startled gasp.

Shilo lunged without so much as a _hello._

The impulse to pummel the girl until her knuckles bled burned her from the inside out, and her hands tingled as alien fire begged to burst from the surface. Digging her nails into the girl’s shoulders wasn’t enough, and a handful of hair yanking Shilo’s head sharply to the side wasn’t enough to dislodge her either.

She tried to take another swing at the startled blonde’s pretty face, but a heel in her gut and a shove, and the world was sent topsy-turvy and spiraling. They were falling – that was alright – _Shego_ had taken worse falls than a tumble down a staircase. A caterwaul of a battle cry tore from her as she bore down on the throat of the former friend.

Before she could feed the girl an overdue knuckle sandwich, her wrist was caught in a firm grip and all at once the animosity and fire was inexplicably smothered. She stared, stunned and pliable, as she was pried away from the blonde choking for breath on the filthy cement beneath her.

“Long time, no see, Shi,” came a deep honeyed voice that sent a shiver down her spine.

It was much more agreeable anyway than the crass, “Still a bitch, I see,” from Priscilla as she picked herself up.

Gawping back at the strapping young man behind her, Shilo jerked her wrist free and stepped back. Looking at Priscilla only rekindled a just rage, but Mickey was golden. He’d done her no wrong. Not really, anyway. Seeing the two together was nothing unusual. But seeing either of them _here,_ thousands of miles from Go City – now that _was_ unusual.

“How did – why would you – what are you doing here?” Shilo snapped, trying to draw upon the anger from moments ago.

Priscilla brushed herself off, or tried to anyway. Her backside was damp and dirty now, white jeans certainly stained. _Good. _“A little bird told me,” she said smugly.

Mickey elbowed her. “She’s been babysitting your little brothers,” he explained awkwardly.

The news was shocking and a little bit crushing, even if unbelievable. In recent years, the old friend had wanted nothing to do with the Gough family – nothing to do with _her_ – after being just short of family one day and a stranger the next. If deserting was the worst of Priscilla’s transgressions, Shilo might not be curling her fists right now. She suddenly wished now that she’d spent more time with her family during their visit. Maybe then she would have had some sort of heads up to expect the backstabber. They hadn’t even _mentioned _her.

“And I had to see for myself when your dweeby brother spilled everything,” added Prissy. “Well, almost everything. Didn’t mention you ran away to join a _different_ circus. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

The former _best friend_ still knew just how to get under her skin in the worst of ways. Practically bristling, Shilo repeated through grit teeth, _“What_ are you _doing here?”_

“Dropping in to say _hi, _duh,” said Priscilla as if it were obvious. She wiggled her fingers then in a mock wave, as if Shilo hadn’t just been laying into her and about to knock her teeth out. “So. _Hi._ You gonna invite us in or what? C’mon, we’ve got some catching up to do, girlfriend.”

“When hell freezes over,” she retorted, and whipped around to retreat up the staircase. She paused, her boiling blood running cold for a split second as she spied Drakken watching from the top with his brow raised. “What, no popcorn this time?” she barked as she stormed up.

“You know them?” he wondered, as if it weren’t obvious enough.

As she reached him, Shilo shot a glare over her shoulder at Priscilla Kimbley still standing at the bottom with Mickey Goldsmith, the young man trying his best to whisper and gesture Prissy away toward the old jeep parked at the end of the block. “I thought I did,” she hissed, and grabbed Drakken by an arm to tow him back inside and away from the rat.


	35. Aura of Others – 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention last chapter - but Priscilla Kimbley was based on my question,_ "Why do they always call Kim by her full name?"_ It's almost as if there was a "Kim" before... I know it was just cartoon logic, and probably normal for other people in other places, but it just came off as strange to me...anywho, that's my explanation for that. Personal OC's make me shudder, so forgive me. Mickey however, is less of an OC and more of a side character I decided to utilize. *SWEATS*  
Enjoy maybe~

“If they’re going to cause trouble, you have my blessing to take care of them,” said Drakken, stealing a last peek out the door before Shilo shut and chained it. She shot him a grimace but he gave her a twisted smile in return. “I can even help with dispose—”

Shilo gave him a sharp jab in the chest, hissing, “Not another word out of you.”

Drakken stepped back, a look of genuine surprise frozen on his face before melting into one of questioning. “Just a minute ago, it looked like you wanted that girl dead?”

“Yeah, well, wanting her _dead_ and wanting to beat the ever-loving snot out of her are two different things,” she spat.

She whipped around to skulk back toward her dresser, grumbling if he had the time so she could set her useless digital alarm clock. It wasn’t all that late after all – in fact, it was barely even noon, not that it came as any relief. She nearly busted the clock into a hundred molten pieces when Drakken dared to open his big mouth again.

“Shego, who are those people?”

“Nobody,” she snapped, heat threatening to spark from her fingertips.

“I beg to differ, if they know you and your family,” Drakken muttered, almost as if he didn’t mean for her to hear. He cleared his throat and raised the volume then, but it did little to mask the nervous waver in his voice. The nervous fidget with his fingers was enough of a giveaway. “Reassure me, please, Shego, that they aren’t going to become a problem.”

She couldn’t promise him that. “How about that foosball table, huh?” she said instead, hoping to dodge the subject of her disowned friends from her old neighborhood.

“You’re not staying the night,” Drakken sternly warned before she could even begin to look about for her go-bag.

Blowing a raspberry, Shilo’s shoulders slumped. She grabbed his elbow to tow him back toward the door. “Fine. I just wanna get outta here.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, glad the street was free of any sign of old jeeps – and devoid of any other vehicle besides Drakken’s sorry white van, for that matter. Her unwelcome guests were nowhere in sight.

“You sure I can’t spend the night?” Shilo grumbled from shotgun as she hesitated to buckle in. It would be nice if she could pack the overnight bag.

Drakken hummed, words trapped behind zipped lips for a moment until he glanced her way. “My mother did do a fair bit of snooping and – don’t be mad – she _may _have peeked into your room,” he admitted hesitantly. “Shego, have you been having trouble sleeping lately? _Shego?”_

When he called her name again, she realized she was holding her breath. Her hands felt warm, and the sensation began running up her arms and burning in the pit of her stomach. “No,” she said quickly, diverting her stare from him to look out the passenger window instead.

“And I suppose it’s just _normal_ for you to burn through a mattress a month?”

“Drakken,” she said tersely.

“Yes?”

“Shut the hell up.”

“No,” he objected. “If I have to make special arrangements for you, I need to know.”

She swallowed dryly. “It’s no big deal. I’m over it now,” she swore. Drakken cast an unconvinced glance her way. As if it were proof, she added, “I haven’t caught the _couch_ on fire. Or anything else! Have I?”

“No,” he admitted with a grimace.

_“See?”_

“But the other night you looked like you were about to when you lit up like a bunch of fireflies.”

“That just happens sometimes,” she defended quickly, and extended a hand toward him, stifled glow bubbling around it. “Besides, it’s not always _hot.”_ She could really only hope it wasn’t. She was already feeling pretty flushed.

Drakken peeked at her, to the road, and back to her before carefully reaching out bare-handed to touch her fingertips to see for himself. “It is a _little_ warm,” he muttered. If it was only a little warm before, then it was definitely warm as he took her hand, face scrunching as he analyzed her plasma while keeping his eyes on the road. “Feels…interesting. Almost like electricity, or—”

Deciding suddenly that she didn’t need yet another scientist analyzing her, she retracted her glow and her hand, stuffing her fingers in her armpits. “I told you. It’s not hot. No biggie. I’m safe to sleep on the couch.” She bit her lip then. She was really only _safe_ when she was under the influence of the narcotic, yet calling herself _safe_ still felt like an insult to herself. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“I do,” he said quickly, as if it was mere reflex. “I’d just rather you not stay over _too _late tonight.”

“Why?” she scoffed, hopeful for a change in subject. “You expecting another guest?”

His grin was feeble and his grip tightened on the wheel. “No. I’d like my _me time, _thank you. I have some experimenting to do and I don’t need you laughing when it goes awry.” He sounded certain it would.

“What kind of—”

“How about some Chow, hm?” Drakken interjected with a meek laugh.

Shego rolled her eyes and sighed, sinking back in her seat, which he must have taken as a _yes. _She didn’t object.

Soon enough, all discussion of her little issue was put on the back burner. She was feeling right where she belonged, slouched in the computer chair in the lab with her feet kicked up on the desk of the mainframe, slurping on a strawberry milkshake and flipping through a magazine, soaking up the calm of the cave lair.

Occasionally she did peek across to Drakken running some sort of diagnostic tests on a newly built cannon, inwardly curious what he hummed or cursed about every few minutes. No sooner did she suck up the last drop of her ChowShake did Drakken peel off oily gloves to bounce up to her and request the empty cup. No man in his right mind should have giggled and run off with her garbage, but he was a self-proclaimed _madman_ after all.

Curiosity again had her gaze straying from the magazine, only this time she’d swiveled the chair around to watch him gleefully set the cup atop an empty crate across the lab and hurry back to the polished cannon painted in hazardous stripes of black and yellow. “You might want to cover your ears,” he called from across the lab, spinning the cannon about on its stand to aim at the paper cup.

Shego grimaced as it whirred to life, the hum of the device not unlike the buzz of a swarm of bees. Palms to her ears and magazine forgotten in her lap, she watched as Drakken twisted dials and pulled a couple levers, and she had to guess by the raised fingers that he was counting down from three.

He’d warned about the sound but he should have warned of the light too, though she should have expected that much. No respectable villainous contraption was complete without a showy blinding flash.

The cup was gone in the blink of an eye. All that stood in its place was a drifting mote of fine ash, and mere feet behind where it had stood was now scorched stone, the crater in the wall proving the flimsy paper cup was no match for the cannon.

Clearly Drakken was no match for it either, as he’d been knocked flat by the kickback. He sat up, a little wobbly, and reached for what was sure to become a welt from his head hitting the floor. 

“Doc?” she called over. “Dr. D.”

He didn’t respond, though he did mutter a winded, _“Gee whiz!_ What a doozy.”

After a second of hesitation, she stood, tossing the magazine to the chair and crossing the lab to where the rogue engineer sat shaking his head.

“Dr. Drakken,” she said one more time, taking a knee beside him.

He didn’t seem to notice her at all until she set a hand on his shoulder, and finally he jolted and shot a surprised look in her direction. He was blinking rapidly and making a stupid face, probably trying to blink away the spots in his vision, and the cupped hand around his ear gave her a clue his ears were probably still ringing.

“You alright?” she asked, raising her voice.

He cracked a grin. “Never been better!” he chirped, his volume a little on the high side. He wasted no time digging in his coat pocket for his notebook, flipping it open and scratching down illegible notes as he muttered to himself, “Locking castors...turret...earmuffs, goggles...decrease the…”

Rolling her eyes, she tuned him out and left him to his note-taking. “Fantastic. Now you don’t have to pay for trash service,” she quipped, only a little disappointed he couldn’t hear the remark.

Still blinking away the spots in her vision, Shego snatched up her magazine from the chair, deciding to retreat to the living room before he could give her hearing damage too or bring stalactites raining down on them.

No sooner had she plopped herself down on the couch and kicked her feet up on the cushions did she hear the door creak open. She waited for Drakken to tell her to get her shoes off his couch, but the disgruntled order never came. She peeked over the top of her magazine, and over the spine of the couch, but he was nowhere in sight, though the door had come open.

Several minutes passed before Drakken came shuffling in. “Door stays _closed, _Shego,” he groused, kicking it shut behind him. Scowling at him, she half expected it to bounce back open to prove she wasn’t at fault. “If the boys know you hang out in here, they’ll _all _want to hang out in here.”

She scoffed. “Dude, they already know.” She could do without certain rumors, but it was frankly no big secret among the crew.

Drakken froze on his way to the kitchen. He reached to fidget with his fingers, that nervous tell of his again. “They do?”

_“Doy. _They’re pretty dumb but they’re not _that _dumb,” she jibbed, leaning over the back of the couch as she watched him practically squirm. “But hey, I’d be happy to hang out with the boys instead if you want.”

“No – no, I’d rather you not,” he mumbled, making for the kitchen again.

“They’re not a bad bunch,” she defended lightly, only to grimace a second later at her own words. “Wow, that really doesn’t sound right.”

“Uhh, Shego?” called Drakken, concern in his tone as he drummed his fingers on the counter. “Where’s my, uhm. My recipe?”

“Your what?”

“My recipe,” he repeated, tapping the counter deliberately now. “I left it right here—”

“I haven’t seen it.”

He laughed nervously as he began searching the kitchen top to bottom. “You’re not going to get brownie points from Joanne for this, Shego,” he warned, though it sounded like a big fat lie. “It needed improvements and – and don’t tell my mother that!” He even began opening the cabinets.

“I’ll keep my eye out for it,” she promised halfheartedly, though she wasn’t particularly up for a wild goose chase of finding a lost recipe for oatmeal and maple pastries written on a simple slip of lined paper, according to Drakken’s description.

The man was just kicking his complaints up a notch when she decided the season’s fashion could wait. He was searching through a bookshelf full of cookbooks now, flipping through each page and griping that he was sure he left it on the counter, and in his frantic search he spilled a collection of hand-written family recipes he’d kept stored in one of the books.

She crouched to help gather them up as the purple-faced rogue haphazardly crammed as many as he could back into the book. “You have time to make all these?” she criticized.

Drakken snatched a few slips from her hand. _“No, _but I might eventually.”

_“Shrimp scampi?” _she scoffed, looking one over. “Sounds pretty basic. That’s gotta be in a cookbook already.”

He shrugged. “One of my cousins swears by it,” he grumbled, and snatched it too from her fingers.

“Sounds good. You should make it sometime. I haven’t had it in forever.”

“Well, maybe next weekend if we go to California, we can stop in at some seafood shack on the coast.”

“You don’t have to go to the coast for seafood.”

Drakken balked, sputtering something incomprehensible before arguing, “Then what’s even the point of seafood if you’re not going to eat somewhere with fishnets on the walls, and, and, and those glass floaty things that go with them?” His brow knit and his patience waned, made clear when he snapped at her, _“Nnng, _Shego! You’re distracting me. Go. Just go. Go play with the foosball table or something.”

She didn’t let him shoo her off so easy. She scooped up the last three loose papers, and barely caught the big letters scrawled across the top of one. “Hey. Oatmeal Maple Bars?” she read aloud.

“Let me see that!” Drakken practically scrambled toward her on his knees and made a grab for the slip. “How did – what?” Scowling, he ran his hand through his hair to scratch at his scalp as if it could help jog his memory. “I didn’t put it here. I left it on the _counter.”_

“Then why were you checking the bookshelf?”

_“Because!” _Drakken whined, not unlike a child in need of a nap. He looked like he could use one. “It was the last place I could think to look!”

“I didn’t see you check your _pockets,” _she noted.

He glowered. “Shego,” he ground out, wagging an accusing finger at her. “You planted it there, didn’t you?”

_“What?” _She was glaring at him now. “I didn’t do shit.”

“Well, it got there _somehow.”_

“Maybe a ghost did it,” she snorted, crossing her arms to be of no help as he stuffed everything back in place on the shelf.

He paused. “Maybe…no, that’s absurd,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Well. Uhm.” He cleared his throat and glanced back to her. He tried to force an awkward smile but it fell just as quickly. “Maybe it’s time for a break,” he said decisively. “How about a round of foosball?”

She agreed, if only to sate a curiosity and figuratively kick his butt for unfounded accusations.

The henchmen’s rec room was deserted, which didn’t say much for the entertainment the new table offered. Shego found the remote in the couch cushions – along with a handful of loose change and old popcorn – and flicked on the television, flipping to a channel broadcasting the top 40’s in favor of a wrestling match.

“So. What do I get when I beat you?” Shego wondered as she met her blue companion gleefully spinning knobs.

His smile fell and a scowl hardened in its place. “A ride home,” he answered bluntly and smacked another knob to send the figures pinwheeling in a blur. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re going _down,_ missy.”

“So if I throw the match, I can stay?” she quipped, taking her spot across from him.

The man sputtered for a moment. _“No!”_ he finally barked. “It just means you aren’t _walking _home.”

“How chivalrous.”

Drakken gave a pensive hum as he positioned the ball. “If I win, what do _I _get?”

“Whadda ya want?”

He hummed thoughtfully again and shrugged halfheartedly. “Shrimp scampi at some tacky restaurant on the coast,” he grumbled, fiddling a little too intently with the ball. He muttered something about his unprecedented seafood craving.

The abrupt bloom of warmth threatened to burn the grips on her side of the table, and she had to set her hands on her hips to be safe. “Are you asking me out?” she shot, a little more suspicious than intended. Suddenly her mouth was dry and her heart jumped into her throat, but she kept a critical scowl on her face and willed herself to keep her cool.

Drakken was dismissive. “Oh, no, I just want to get out of cooking shrimp. The whole heads and legs and looking like an insect thing really—,” he shuddered. _“Eugh. _No thank you.”

“Gee, now you’ve ruined shrimp for me too,” Shego grumbled. Letting it go, she rolled her eyes and gave her little wooden soccer guys a dizzying spin. “So how’s this work? How do you play this thing?”

Drakken paused and flicked a glance up at her past the rims of his glasses and back down again. “Um…I was hoping you’d know.”

She gave him a withering look. “Way to pass the buck.”

“Well, it’s pretty straightforward. I think. We’ll figure it out or make up rules as we go.” A smile flickered across his face, the very idea of being in a position to make his own set of rules seemingly enough to delight him.

_A man of simple pleasures,_ she almost mused aloud.

Maneuvering little men on sticks to knock a ball around wasn’t necessarily tricky, though it gave Drakken trouble for the first few minutes – enough that his smile vanished and he grunted and grumbled irritation each time the ball got past his “army,” as he called it. By the time Shego had made three goals – not counting the initial three that had proven to be an effortless straight shot – Drakken had his game face on and was beginning to put up a fight.

“I’ll pay you to pretend I let you have that one,” he grumbled across the table at her when the ball sailed past his last line of defense.

“Maybe it’ll give you more incentive to win if we raise the stakes,” Shego mused. “If you lose, I stay the night.” Far, far away from those dreaded pills.

“And if I win, you tell me what’s going on with you,” he bartered.

Shego cocked her brow at him curiously. She didn’t like the sound of that. She didn’t have to ask him to clarify.

“You didn’t light up last night,” he explained with a nervous stutter. “You usually do. And then after finding your sheets all burnt to a crisp – well – if there’s something wrong – or if there’s anything I can do to help—”

“You can help by shutting the hell up about it,” she snapped, fixing him in a heated glare. “There’s nothing _wrong _with me, Doc. I’m fine.” Suddenly the old fear of being reduced to a _subject_ under observation in some shady lab came back to the forefront, but she held fast to her resolve to stay far away from the prescription she’d left at home. If he wanted to help her, he could just throw the match and get it over with.

Starting another round, Shego pressed, “If you win, you can pick the movie tonight. But I still get to stay. Capisce?”

The man grit his teeth, his stare locked on the ball being knocked every which way. “Nnng – yes, fine.”

Shego made the mistake of glancing from the table to the glasses slipping off his nose, because the second she did, he seized an opportunity with a flick of a knob. Just as she made to kick the ball from her goal, her rod jammed, goalie stuck uselessly horizontal for a split second too long. That was all the opening he needed.

Drakken let out a triumphant hoot that dissolved into a cackle. “Ah-hah! What’s the score now? Five to six?”

Suddenly she was inclined to count her first three goals after all. “As if! Try _eight_ to six,” she retorted, and watched his face fall.

His brow scrunched and he practically whined, “Wha—?”

“I play winner!” piped the voice of henchman Bobby.

Shego snapped her attention away from her opponent in time to see more henchmen filing into the room, and just like that, it was terribly stuffy. She barely convinced herself it was the stink of the men in overripe jumpsuits packing in.

One of the newer goons cracked a crusty grin and chuckled, “I think the winner’s gonna take their winnings elsewhere, if ya catch my—”

Though he was a beanpole of a henchman, Bob shoved the brutish new guy a moment too late to shut him up. Even with his mask, Shego could see his eyes go wide as he realized it may have been a mistake to push one thug into another, because it began a chain reaction in the form of a brawl. One man slugged another, some bully grabbed Bob by an ankle to shake the change from his pockets, and Shego barely slipped by them all with a burning face and glittering hands hidden in her armpits. She didn’t know how Drakken made it through the scrap unscathed, but he was winded when he caught up to her in the hall.

After a moment of silence and barely matching her pace, Drakken blew a raspberry and rubbed at his neck. “I think you ought to go home,” he suggested, though it sounded like an order.

She didn’t argue, agreeing, “Yeah,” in reflex before she could remember why she’d wanted to stay at all. 


	36. Aura of Others – 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I don't update next weekend, it probably has something to do with an ugly wildfire. *shrugging*
> 
> Anywho. This one's a little… *waves hand in a so-so way* ...but I promise I have my reasons.

She _really _should have argued, she decided, thumping her head back against the headrest of her seat as they reached her neighborhood. “Keep driving,” she groaned. _“Please.” _She didn’t want to be at the lair with the henchmen cracking jokes and whispering shady rumors, but she didn’t want to be at the crummy apartment either – particularly when there was a familiar jeep just now pulling up to the curb.

“Why?” asked Drakken, oblivious.

Shilo scowled at the jeep parked under the streetlight ahead, narrowing her eyes on the single occupant. After a suspicious glance around, up toward her apartment, down the sidewalk, and in the mirrors, she finally deemed it safe to pop open her door.

“Mickey came alone,” she muttered to herself, and took a deep breath for confidence as she disembarked from the van. She opened her mouth to bid Drakken a farewell when he cut the engine, and instead she quirked her brow back at him as he stepped out onto the street. “What are you doing?”

Drakken met her on the sidewalk and frowned at the jeep at the end of the block before his dark gaze slid back to her. “If you’re going to get up to trouble, I’d like to stay informed,” he said quietly, and shrugged as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “But if you need privacy with the pretty boy over there, just say the word and I’ll take my leave.”

Mickey was climbing out from behind the wheel of the jeep now, brandishing a pizza box that steamed in the autumn chill.

Shilo decided then to grab Drakken by the elbow to pull him toward her apartment. Not because she needed backup should she find herself in another fight today, but so her getaway driver couldn’t leave without her in the event she _really _needed to avoid her old neighborhood friends.

“Mickey’s...alright,” she tried to promise, daring not to glance back at the _pretty boy_ calling her by name. Even among her own family, she’d been all too frequently called by her hero alias. Hearing her name from an old friend made her throat tighten. She wasn’t sure if she liked the sound of it or not.

“If he’s so _alright,_ how come you don’t stop and see what he wants?” reasoned Drakken.

She made the mistake of shooting back over her shoulder, “Because whatever it is, _Prissy _put him up to it.” She caught a peek of Mickey past Drakken, curled her lip, and turned for the staircase. While Mickey had never been as close a friend as she would have liked, he’d been _close enough, _and Priscilla was rubbing salt in a wound sending _him _to act as some kind of a mediator.

“Wait up a minute, will ya?” called Mickey from the bottom of the staircase, and Shilo couldn’t help gritting her teeth. “I just want to talk. I brought pizza! No anchovies!”

She fumbled to find her keys, but didn’t wrench the door open in time before Mickey reached the landing. Drakken was the only thing standing between them, and he paled in comparison – literally. Tanned, broad, and brawny, Mickey could toss Drakken over the railing single-handedly if he so wished, but tossing her chosen company out of his way wouldn’t be the best way to get back on her good side.

Drakken shrank back from the strapping young man with the build of a henchman, but in doing so he took Shilo by the shoulders and practically pushed her inside. “No solicitors today, please, thank you,” he said in a hurry. He didn’t seem that keen anymore to meet Mickey now that he had an up-close look at him.

Planting her feet stubbornly, Shilo twisted to glower back at the old friend trying to get a foot in the door. She didn’t have a chance to shake Drakken off or shove him safely inside the dark apartment when chilly fingers caught her by the wrist, and her eyes popped wide as a tingle was left in the wake of pursed lips on her knuckles. She half-expected her visitor to drop her hand and reel as if he’d been shocked by static – or maybe burned by fire – but as always, good ol’ Mickey only stood straight and smiled, her hand gently held in his paw.

She gawped at him until Drakken’s voice cut through, calling her name, but even as he hit the lights and tried to pull her away, she found herself tightening her grip on the young man’s hand and taking him with her.

“Good thing I got the large, huh?” said Mickey with a contagious smile and a nod toward Drakken. The warm smell of pepperoni wasn’t the only thing that had her pulling him inside, but she couldn’t put her finger on it – which was nothing new, strange as it was. Mickey had a certain special charm to him.

“Yeah,” she muttered, and once Mickey was inside her apartment and had nudged the door shut behind him, she shook her hand free of his and unappreciatively shrugged Drakken’s claw-like grip from her shoulder. “What is it you want?” She could barely muster the willpower to be suspicious, and a voice of frustration was muffled at the very back of her mind.

“Just wanna talk,” he said. “Nothing else.” It sounded like a lie, but he could sell her a bridge with a voice like his.

Her heart beat an unsteady rhythm and she shuffled past Mickey setting the box on the table, barely distracting herself with finding paper plates. “Uhm. Doc, Mickey. Mickey, Doc,” she introduced, back to the two men in her apartment. She couldn’t keep busy with plates for long, but she kept her eyes down as she deposited them on the table, as if that alone could really save her from Mickey’s spell.

“We were neighbors,” provided Mickey. “And we used to be friends. Right, Shi?” He cast an almost puppydog look toward her as he pushed the pizza box her way to take the first slice. He didn’t sit down. No one did, for that matter, all three of them choosing to stand awkwardly around the table.

“I guess,” she grumbled, taking a slice of pizza that never made it to her plate. She took a bite and spoke around it, Mickey’s charm wearing off as a glare finally worked its way onto on her face. “Until you quit talking to me too.”

“It wasn’t _us,” _Mickey defended. “It was—,” his eyes darted to Drakken and back, and he shook his head. “It was your new group of friends.”

“They _were not_ my friends,” she hissed back. She wished she had some soda to gulp down. “You guys knew that. You were the only ones who knew that!” She’d scream it if only she could find the rage to blow up with. The inexplicable calm she felt in his presence was enough to infuriate her all on its own.

“You know what I mean. Once you got involved with _them, _you didn’t have time for us anymore,” grumbled the man frowning sullenly at his pizza. He nodded to Drakken suddenly, and wondered, “Does he know about them? I mean, he’s gotta, right?”

“Them?” inquired Drakken. He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Shilo suddenly wished he weren’t here after all.

“Those yahoos with Global Justice,” she answered with a roll of her eyes.

“Ah.” He tentatively reached for a slice of pizza and inspected the toppings as if expecting to find it laced with poison. A half-smile almost made it onto Shilo’s face, watching him check the food over suspiciously with the same distrust she’d had of his cooking when she’d returned from Go City some weeks ago.

“It wasn’t our fault we drifted apart,” Mickey went on. “When you came back, you had a new name, you had no time for us, and you had people watching your every move. You turned into a nark.”

Drakken snorted on an incredulous laugh and Shilo shot him a glare that silenced him.

“I was not a nark,” she defended. She realized the old friend had stepped closer, but she couldn’t bring herself to step back even as she struggled to glare up into his eyes.

“When we found out you weren’t Shego anymore, we figured it was safe to come see Shilo,” said Mickey, standing decidedly too close. She nearly dropped her plate, but he set it aside, one heavy hand landing gently on her shoulder and a soft hypnotic smile on his face.

Dr. Drakken’s arched brow in her peripheral was barely enough incentive for her to push the paw off.

“It doesn’t change anything. What she did was unforgivable,” she barely stuttered out, barely holding fast to her resolve. Before Mickey could open his mouth in the girl’s defense, she vehemently added, “You don’t know the half of it.” Priscilla Kimbley had done Shilo Gough more wrong than she cared to recount – much more than moving in on some playground crush and abandoning her when she needed a friend the most. She couldn’t prove it, but Shilo was positive the girl had played a part in dragging Shego’s name through the mud and putting her family in undue peril on more than one occasion. Just _thinking _about it was almost enough for fire to flare in her palms without her say-so.

“We just want a chance to be friends again,” swore Mickey, hands up as if in peace. “We’re trying to make up here.”

She didn’t want to buy into it, even if irrationally compelled to. _“What?” _she croaked, and swallowed and tried again, skepticism barely rising to the surface. _Just want to be friends again_ – what a load! She wracked her brains for some other reason and scoffed. “What did my brothers promise you? Participation trophies? A pat on the back for convincing me to go home? Give it up.”

The appeasing look on Mickey Goldsmith’s face dissolved quickly, replaced by a frown. “Hey, if they wanted me to bring you back to Go, they’d have to cough up the dough first, babe. Plus, I wouldn’t have to waste time bringing you pizza to sucker you into anything when I could do it with one finger,” he arrogantly claimed. His single raised finger wagged in her face wasn’t the least bit threatening.

She felt like she was only going through the motions when she snorted and set her hands on her hips, barely mustering up an inkling of the alien heat that so often came hand-in-hand with the anger she could really use right about now. “What’s that supposed to mean? Think you can just throw me over your shoulder or someth—” Her trap shut, and it wasn’t entirely because Mickey placed his finger over her lips, leaving her mouth tingling.

Before she knew what had happened, her knees were weak. Everything was weak. Or maybe she wasn’t _weak, _but rather incredibly _relaxed._ Practically fainting on the spot, her legs buckled and she slumped forward, her limbs too useless to even catch herself, so Mickey did that for her, wrapping her up in his arms as if to bear-hug all objections out of her. Resisting was the last thing on her mind as the blissful warm tingle engulfed her. There was no _better judgment _left to be had. She let out a contented sigh and melted comfortably against the chest of the once-friend sweeping her off her useless, useless feet. It should have been concerning at the very least, but there was something profoundly calming about Mickey Goldsmith that worked wonders every time. She’d never given it much thought before. There’d always been other factors involved.

Drakken’s furious demand, “What did you do to her?” didn’t belong in the same room. It couldn’t _possibly _when she was this blissfully at ease.

“Don’t worry about it,” answered Mickey calmly, not a care in the world. As it should be. “She’s perfectly fine.”

Shilo felt gravity working against her to pry her from his grip, but she was stronger than gravity and stubbornly held on tight enough to defy it. Mickey sighed and sat with her in his lap instead, her bedsprings creaking protest beneath his weight.

A very distant fear of being drugged ragged at the very back of her mind, but she couldn’t keep a clear head long enough to recall if Mickey had eaten a slice of pizza too or not, or if Drakken had, but those worries soon dissipated. She was more concerned with the dopy laugh she couldn’t keep from bubbling out of her, and though she swore it should have humiliated her, she didn’t burn up with alien fire.

As the effects began to ebb ever so slightly, there was something increasingly familiar about the sensation. “You did this before,” she said, or maybe slurred. “Back when we used to veg out at your place.” The effects were wearing off that much quicker. “I thought it was just the weed.” Granted, she couldn’t recall being _this _sedated before.

Mickey had gone tense, too tense for her liking. He cleared his throat lightly, and a hand was rubbing her back. “Uh, yeah. It’s relaxing though, isn’t it?”

She hooked her chin over her friend’s shoulder and tried to nod. “It _is,” _she agreed. How could she not?

“What is?” sputtered Drakken nearby. “What’s relaxing? What just happened?” The concern in his tone was unwarranted in her opinion, but no one was asking her.

“You should lie down for a bit,” Mickey suggested, and it was the last thing she heard before her head hit the pillow. Lulled by the soothing warm tingle Mickey’s hand on her shoulder left behind, her eyelids slid shut before she knew it.

When flickering light and muffled sound pulled her back from the vulnerable state of unconsciousness, she cracked her eyes open to the television playing some space documentary, the drone of the narrator almost enough to put her back to sleep. On the rug nearby sat a man disappointingly smaller than Mickey, but Drakken’s familiar shoulders and unkempt hair was a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. She reached futilely out to him before letting her hand drop and hang over the edge of the bed. Green sparks glittered down to her fingertips when the wish to pull him up to her crossed her mind.

She must have groaned or something because Drakken tried to cast a glance back, although the television had him fixated. “Have a nice nap?” he asked anyway.

“The best,” she answered wryly, though truth be told, she couldn’t say it hadn’t been. She rubbed her eyes with a fist until she saw more stars than the television offered. She froze mid-yawn and propped herself up on an elbow, a scowl fixing on Drakken suddenly. “What are you doing here?” she blurted.

“Making sure that guy doesn’t come back,” he grumbled. “I don’t trust him.”

She had no idea why she was inclined to mumble, “I do.”

Drakken turned an incredulous look back on her. “After what he did?”

“What’d he do?” She raised her brow at him, and the longer he stared at her, the stupider she felt. Heat returned to her cheeks, and she flopped back in her bed, hands tucked in her armpits just to be on the safe side.

“I don’t know! He just started _shining_ – and then you collapsed and started babbling like you’d just had laughing gas,” Drakken explained, and she could only grimace at his hand-flailing exasperation. He crossed his arms suddenly and slumped, back against the edge of the bed. “The guy said he didn’t mean to overdo it. I don’t know what he did, but _I _think he _did _mean to.”

Shilo didn’t bother trying to understand him. A trace of the high still hummed pleasantly through her veins. Instead she stretched hugely, from her fingers to her toes, and was too at peace to think twice when she sighed, “He’s _golden.”_

“Not what I would call him,” grumbled Drakken. “More like very strange and not to be trusted. Not if he can – if he can do whatever it was he did to you.”

She scoffed. “You mean help me relax?”

Suddenly Drakken was leaping up. She didn’t miss his ears tinged purple. “Whoa! Alright, I don’t need to know the details on that front,” he announced decidedly, flapping a dismissive hand back at her. He stalked across the apartment to peek through the kitchen window. “I think you ought to come back to the lair tonight. You can crash on the couch, I don’t care. Just whatever, until they go away, or we can figure out how to counter _whatever _it was he did.” He stroked his chin and to himself he added in a mumble, “Adrenaline, maybe…”

“Don’t overthink it, Doc,” she called over, grudgingly hefting herself up. “The dude’s just really chill to be around.” She’d rather subject herself to Mickey than become a test subject again. The neighbor boy had helped her through some rough patches in her early days as Shego. She’d been under too much pressure back then to stop and consider the calm she felt with him in his basement might not have had anything to do with lavender candles or sharing a smoke.

Drakken frowned her way. “I’m going to have to trust your judgment on this, aren’t I?”

_“Yup,” _Shilo popped, her stare diverting away from him. She couldn’t help noticing the time and sighing. “You should get going, _busy man,” _she decided. She’d surely kept him long enough.

The idea didn’t seem to appeal to him as he frowned toward the door. Nonetheless, he stepped towards it. “I’ll swing by for you in the morning?”

Already seeking out pajamas in her dresser, she stifled another yawn and agreed, “Sounds good.”

“Last chance to come home – I mean, back to the lair,” stuttered Drakken, unlocking her front door. “Going once…twice?”

“I’ll be _fine, _Doc,” she swore, rolling her eyes and casting him a withering look. “Now beat it, before I blast you out.” In an empty threat, she raised a hand oozing with plasma. Whatever determination to stay at the lair she may have felt earlier was gone now, but she didn’t let it worry her the way it perplexed Drakken.

He peered back one last time before reluctantly leaving – only to step back in a second later to make her jump just as she’d been about to swap tops.

“What is it now?” she griped.

He pointed to the television. “Can I just finish watching this program?” He wore a sheepish grin, but she wasn’t sold. One last withering look from her, and he ducked back out, forfeiting without a fight, “Okay, okay, I’m going. Goodnight.”


	37. Aura of Others – 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated mid-week last week, and updating so soon felt weird, so I skipped updating last weekend, woops. <s>Did'ja miss me?</s>  
Hopefully back to the regular Friday/weekend updates now...Anywho!
> 
> Last chapter in the arc!  
Up next: _Whose Side_

It was only after Drakken had left and she’d had a few minutes to fully come back to her senses did she remember why she didn’t want to be left at her apartment in the first place. The solution was simple but not easy, and once again, she opted to ignore it completely, barely succeeding.

Instead of succumbing to the siren call of a little orange bottle or finally dumping the drug down the drain once and for all, Shilo decided a refreshing walk in the dark to the river for air and a smoke under the bridge was in order, followed by a stop at the 24-Seven for a Freezee and a snack. She couldn’t help finding herself back at the bridge, hoping just a little that her favorite stalker could take another pass through her neighborhood so she could hitch a ride with him, but no dingy white utility van came chugging out of the dark to whisk her off. After finishing her slushy and chips, she resigned herself to waiting the full twelve or so hours until he returned for her, even if she was tempted to turn on her heel and hoof it to the lair.

She slept in her own bed that night, as she should, blanket pulled up to her chin. It was all she could do to hold on tight to the phantom sensation of peace left behind by her old friend’s inexplicable magic touch.

Her efforts were almost in vain but determination anchored her in place throughout the night. When her alarm welcomed the dawn, she could barely give herself a pat on the back for not giving in and seeking out the quick solution with adverse effects. That she hadn’t scorched her bedsheets was a plus.

Hunched over a bowl of cereal at the wobbly dining table, she was just considering going back to bed to try sleeping in when the telephone rang, giving her a small start. She turned a deaf ear to it, dreading the likelihood of Buckley’s girls calling to get on her case about one thing or another, but grudgingly decided to answer when the caller tried a third time – although simply blasting the phone was definitely appealing.

“Hello, you’ve reached—,” she began monotonously, only to be interrupted with a crabby reply.

“Would you get out here already?” groused Drakken from the other end of the line. “I’ve only been honking for the past five minutes, and I’m starting to get looks.” She hadn’t noticed any honking over the obnoxious television blasting downstairs.

Shilo took an involuntary step toward the kitchen window, but the length of the cord stopped her. “Why not just knock?”

The stubborn man grunted. “It’s _freezing _outside. No.”

Some frosty fresh air might do the trick to wake her up, like a splash of cold water, she decided, and hung up without another word.

A couple minutes later, she was dressed and diving out the door with her go-bag slung over her shoulder. Restless night aside, she couldn’t stave off the trace of a smile until she was facing the beat-up old van, glad to get away from the temptation.

Her smile was definitely gone when Drakken greeted her with a wry, “Good morning, sunshine.” One tired look from her was all it took for his own smile to wither and fade, and he mumbled, “Or not.”

_Or not _was right. An overcast had the little desert oasis looking bleak today, and it certainly didn’t help that there was no henchman on duty to tend to the gate. The one upside was the new mobile phone Drakken passed to her to replace the one she’d destroyed some weeks ago, which was only to be used for work-related calls, not _“bullshitting with friends,” _as he put it.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” she wondered, climbing out and rolling her shoulders. She tried not to glance toward the mess of aircraft odds and ends littering half the garage, or get her hopes up that she’d finally get to see him put them to good use.

Drakken flashed a crooked grin. “I can let you fire the cannon,” he offered. “Or you could give the henchmen a brushup. Keep them sharp.” He flapped a hand and shrugged then, taking a few quick steps ahead of her. “Or you could just sit around and look pretty. Whatever tickles your fancy, I suppose.”

“We need to do something exciting,” she complained, following him through the foyer and up the stairs.

The man snorted and shot a frown over his shoulder. “I tried that, but you had some very important business to attend to Friday night. Or did you forget?”

She wished she could. Her face warmed over as she wondered if it had really been worth sacrificing a weekend of thrills and ocean breeze. “Sore loser,” she coughed into her fist. Drakken’s frown turned into a deep grimace and his glare might have burned anyone else, but before he could open his mouth to retort anything, she gave his shoulder a rough shove through the lab door to push him toward the cannon. “C’mon, let’s fire that puppy up. I wanna take a shot.”

He grunted something curt but complied, wearily pleading her to hold her horses while henchmen on call moved the device to a safer location – _outdoors _and facing the mountainside. As the two goons in red jumpsuits retreated, Shego didn’t miss one of them playfully elbow Drakken hard enough to make him stumble. She almost barked a laugh, but wiped the smile from her face as Drakken rubbed his arm and came skulking up to her.

“Do they always push you around?” she mocked under her breath, though the henchmen were already out of earshot.

“They’re new,” he defended in a low grumble. “They’re still learning who the boss is around here.”

“Well, toughen up,” advised Shego, turning to inspect the cannon. “Maybe work on your evil laugh. Every villain worth their salt has an evil laugh. You know, go into the theatrics of it. It’s cheesy, I know, but it’ll remind those dropouts what they signed up for.” As she watched Drakken from the corner of her eye, pouting and stroking his chin, she couldn’t help musing inwardly that it might help remind _him _of what he’d hired her for too. They’d get to the chase eventually, once the looming threat of her family was off her back, but for now she’d have to resign herself to putting on charades and lying low.

Donning earmuffs and goggles, she couldn’t wait until the day came that _lying low _was no longer such a priority – because the thrill of firing a deadly weapon like a cannon only whet her appetite for what the future had in store.

She pushed up her goggles and knocked back the muffs, peering over the control board to see the fate of a wooden dummy and the boulder behind it. Barely a smoking sliver remained of the target, and all that was left of the boulder was jagged chunks of rubble.

Drakken’s hand clapped down on her shoulder, a wide grin stretched on his face. Protection aside, her ears still rang and she barely heard his laugh, let alone him ask, “Think that’ll stop an intruder?”

She gave a confirming thumb up. “Dead in their tracks.” Her answer was maybe a little louder than necessary, and maybe her smile was a little wider than necessary too.

He smothered his own grin then and pawed a droplet from his glasses, only to look skyward and subject himself to more speckles on the lenses. “Good day for this,” he decided merrily.

“The locals probably just think it’s thunder,” Shego agreed. She could hope, anyway.

Smiling proudly at his creation, her companion patted the body of the cannon before taking a swift step back, hissing and shaking his hand. With the onset of a drizzle, steam was beginning to rise from the weapon. “Two more shots, and we should let her cool down,” he said, retreating to his place a few steps behind her. “And dial it back, just a little. Don’t want to blast through the cafeteria wall. Or maybe it’s the dorms back there…” He scrunched his brow in uncertainty.

Looking up at the wooded mountain slope, it was hard to believe there was an entire subterranean headquarters dug into it, but she’d seen crazier things. Things like manholes and dumpsters that lead to the immaculate networks of tunnels and offices beneath cities, and lairs built anywhere from in plain sight to active volcanoes.

Drakken was exuberantly pleased with his handiwork and her use of it, even if she intentionally missed the second target to blow out the bottom of a pine to crush the target instead. By the third shot though, a warning light and persistent beep came on, and Drakken was practically shoving her aside to flip switches and smash a button or two, the humming cannon hissing and billowing steam and an ominous nitrogen fog which he danced from foot to foot in for a brief moment before bouncing away hissing half-formed curses under his breath.

“Okay!” he said, clapping his hands as he strode by. “This weather has gotten miserable. I don’t know about you, I’m ready for a nice cup of cocoa m—hot cocoa and a good book by the fire.”

The sprinkle hadn’t yet seeped through the fabric of her uniform, though she couldn’t deny it was a little nippy out. Still, Shego didn’t protest as she abandoned the weapon to cool down, and turning down a mug of hot chocolate proved impossible.

She didn’t count on Drakken actually grabbing a book off a bookshelf otherwise dedicated to houseplants before leaving the living room, and she lingered an extra minute on the couch, blowing into her piping hot mug for a moment before deciding she might like watching the fire better than the television after all.

As expected, Drakken was down in his office, settled in at his desk with the fat book split open before him to study some nonsense. When Shego threw herself down in the computer chair before the CCTV across the office, he looked up with wide eyes and wiped away his chocolate mustache.

“Did you just get here?” he blurted, sounding a little bewildered.

She didn’t answer, sparing only a glance his way before giving a small snort and kicking her feet up on the surveillance desk. The magazine stationed there had been read front to back more than once, but she spread it on her lap regardless.

The minutes ticked by, each second punctuated by the analog clock on the wall just behind Drakken, which Shego eventually had enough of. Maybe she was just a little too eager to blast anything even mildly annoying to smithereens after her fun with the cannon, but it was almost worth it just to hear him yelp as he ducked and shielded his head from falling debris.

“Shego!” he barked, nearly lunging across the desk toward her. “Don’t spook me like that! I have had a _very _bad night, and I’m jumpy enough as it is.”

Arching her brow at him, she had to wonder, “I thought everything was hakuna matata?”

“What?”

“Your mommy issue.” She settled back in her seat, turning back to her magazine. “Thought ya fixed it?”

“What?” he repeated, and shook his head with unkempt hair flapping. “No, no, not that kind of bad night. Bad as in…_hnng...” _He bit at his nails. “I-I don’t wanna talk about it.” He dropped back down into his seat.

“Sweet! I don’t wanna hear about it.”

_“Shego,” _Drakken whined.

She recognized the tone, if only because she’d heard it a million times from her baby brothers begging her for one thing or another. After all that practice, she really ought to be impervious to whining, but she made the mistake of casting another glance in his direction.

He wasted no time once he had her attention, blurting out, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Oh, not this again,” she groaned, head lolling back in exasperation before shooting him a critical frown. “What? Did something go bump in the night? You live in a creepy cave, man. What can I tell you?”

Drakken’s face had blushed purple and he stared intently at the fireplace. “It was a little more than a _bump.”_

“Then it was probably just a bad trip,” she decided when he stubbornly zipped his lips sealed tight.

Not tight enough, apparently. After only a second or two, the words flew out. “I _swear _there was someone in my lab with me last night! I kept feeling like I was being watched – or touched – and then one of the Bebes sat up and fell off the table, but she couldn’t have! She wasn’t even plugged in!” He flapped his hands as he explained, until he briefly hid his face in them. “And then when I tried to go to bed, the blankets suddenly – don’t give me that look, Shego! I’m not on anything, and I wasn’t drinking either, for your information!”

She wiped “_that look”_ – whatever it was, cringing disbelief or something – from her face and tried to look back to the magazine. “O-kay,” she said, pursing her lips, and raised a finger to begin. “One, you’re so sleep-deprived on a regular basis, I’m not surprised if you hallucinate sometimes. Two, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen your robo-girlfriends you’re playing god with twitch all on their own before. They’re a little too lifelike, if you ask me. It’s creepy. Third, what about your blankie? What, did you see a sheet ghost?”

_“YES!” _he practically shrieked, interrupting her quiet chuckle. He was trembling on the edge of his seat. “I thought for sure it was you screwing with me! Something very strange is happening here, Shego. I-I am going to get to the bottom of it – but please – can you…not...go home? Tonight?” His nerves now surfaced, he’d made a complete 180-turn from his insistence she leave yesterday.

While Shego wasn’t sure she’d yet to see him so jittery and scared silly, her initial reflex was to decline. She held her tongue, though. “You’re not just trying to trick me into sleeping with you tonight, are you? What do I look like? A _Cuddle Buddy?”_ she jeered, if only because dry humor was a better option than taking his concerns seriously. Still, she wished she’d thought twice before the words left her mouth, because her cheeks weren’t the only ones to get rosy.

Drakken blanched before his face flushed a deep purple. “Oh, no. Goodness no. Not if you – I would need to be out of my mind – that isn’t happening anymore, Shego. You may lay claim to the couch, and no more. I don’t like sharing.” He shook an unconvincing finger at her, as if he had the authority to tell her where she could and couldn’t crash. Which, technically as her boss and the owner of the lair, he sort of did – but she was willing to disregard that authority.

“Fine,” she said, still preferring to remain skeptical he’d seen anything at all. He had to have been imagining it. “Not sure how useful a bodyguard is against a ghost, but hey! I’ll give it a go. But you know that means you’ve gotta take me to Buckley’s in the morning, right?” She might have liked to see him struck with worry at the prospect, but he wasn’t.

“Right,” Drakken sighed, and he relaxed enough to surprise her. Whatever he may or may not have encountered last night had evidently spooked him enough to risk encountering the very real and very intimidating Joanne Buckley. “So you’ll stay?”

Shego gave a nod and a shrug. “If it makes you feel better.”

“I do think it would,” he mumbled, turning back to his book.

She stood as she knocked back the rest of her cocoa, and crossed the office to reach for Drakken’s mug. “Refill?” she offered.

“Uhm…yes—no—maybe. Sure, yes, please,” sputtered Drakken as he tugged his book away from her and pointedly rested his arms across the pages. Shego narrowed her eyes at the familiarity of it. If he was one of her brothers, if she was back home in Go City, she would have yanked the book away to see what comic he was reading when he ought to be studying.

The man gasped and grappled for it when she snatched it up anyway. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find stamped into the cover, but she wasn’t surprised to catch him reading some _Paranormal Science: Volume II _baloney. She raised her brow at him as he stared back at her wide-eyed and reaching, and she studied his face just long enough to note the sickly bags under his eyes were especially dark today. He must have read _Volume I_ last night, she figured.

She smirked and passed the book back, and he hastily clutched it close to his chest as if it were some invaluable possession his life depended on. She took his cup next and rolled her eyes as she turned away. “Promise me you’ll be doing something useful when I get back with your…_cocoa moo,”_ she snickered over her shoulder. “That means lay off the scary bedtime stories.”

“They are not _bedtime stories!”_ he snapped after her. “I really did see something!”

“I’m not checking for monsters under the bed,” she warned dryly as she swung into the stairwell. Goodness knew she’d had her fill of _that._

His discontented grumbles faded away behind her as she climbed, yet his concerns still rang in her head. “A ghost, huh?” Shego scoffed to herself, glancing back down the dark twisting crag that sufficed for a stairwell. It was a creepy enough lair. An overactive imagination was all it would take to convince someone the place was haunted.

It had to be contagious, because as she tread quietly down the hall to the lab, each footstep faintly echoing, the hairs on the back of her neck rose and she couldn’t help wondering if she heard a second set of footsteps. She paused at the lab to listen carefully, but all was silent save for a few gently-whirring motors running in the mainframe and the rumble of the furnace kicking in, so she shrugged it off as just the echo.

She couldn’t stop her mind from wandering. It was a big lair. Far from the biggest, but it certainly wasn’t the smallest either. She’d done a fair bit of venturing, and she’d wandered down enough long empty hallways leading to nothingness and dead ends to know someone could get lost on the lower levels buried deep in the heart of the mountain.

Hadn’t Drakken said he had skeletons in his basement?

She shook her head and kicked the door of Drakken’s apartment shut behind her, but even as she tried to focus on making fresh cocoa, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility someone had died in the lair, one way or another. In the fridge, a fresh beaker of a frothy purple concoction set beside the milk served to remind her that Dr. Drakken _was _a scientist to some degree after all, and he did call himself a villain, so the odds of a human test subject ending in terminal failure might not be completely out of the realm of possibility.

She shuddered and grabbed the milk, reminding herself that the peculiar purple fluid in the suspicious beaker was merely a harmless home-brewed beverage Drakken liked spiking his coffee with. How twisted could a man who indulged in frothy purple creamer be?

Had Drakken been kidding yesterday when he suggested offing her friends? He certainly hadn’t been when he’d given her the new-and-improved weaponized gloves and goaded her into attacking insubordinate henchmen. Her heart gave an uneasy thud as she studied the gleam of the metallic tips at the ends of her gloved fingers. Hadn’t his last set of henchmen been afraid of him? What did they know that the new guys didn’t?

Maybe someone _had _been killed in the lair before.

The whistle of the teakettle made her jump.

She reached for it in reflex, only to pause and stare at the squealing pot. The microwave dinged beside her to announce the two mugs of water were hot and ready for cocoa. Her brow knit. She hadn’t set the kettle, had she? She was too impatient to bother with kettles.

Quickly flicking the burner off and moving the kettle to another, her brow furrowed as she shook her head. She pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered to herself that she was just tired.

Just as she was mixing two spoons of cocoa and a dash of milk, surely not up to snuff for picky Drakken but good enough for her baby brothers, the scream of the kettle had her dropping the jug as she leaped back.

Blurting a swear and barely catching the milk jug mid-air, she stared wide-eyed at the kettle on the burner.

She was tired.

She was just tired.

She told herself so as she all but threw the kettle into the sink under a stream of cold water.

Her face was flushed and her heart was pounding and the hot cocoa was getting cold as she stood there in the kitchen, eyes peeled for the slightest movement. She watched and stared, but not so much as a leaf of the devil’s ivy atop the fridge quivered. It had to be a prank. She found no one hiding behind the kitchen island, but swore to herself it couldn’t be anything _but _a prank.

Had Drakken slipped something into her hot chocolate earlier? Could the purple froth creamer induce hallucination?

Had someone died here?

Shego rubbed her neck and inwardly berated herself for getting so easily spooked as she turned back to the lukewarm mugs waiting on the counter.

She was perfectly ready to write off any and all odd events as paranoia and delusions and fatigue, but as she reached for the mugs, a tap on her shoulder had her tensing.

That was it. The last straw. Someone was screwing with her, and she was sick of it.

Was that perfume she smelled?

Where had she smelled that cherry before—?

Reflex had her whirling around, a fist clenched and flying through the air. There was no time to let the punch fall short or feel dumb for overreacting and swinging at nothing, because suddenly her knuckles were connecting with the familiar solid feel of a jaw despite nobody in sight.

A barstool toppled over and Shego heard the distinct shout of a girl.

She blinked.

Indeed, there was a young woman lying on the floor, reaching for her jaw, a trace of cherry red already dribbling down her chin.

_“Phew, _that felt good,” Shego breathed, rubbing her knuckles and staring in a stupor down at Priscilla Kimbley mouthing obscenities. She’d wanted to get her hands on the girl for years, and here she was now, alone and vulnerable and down on Shego’s turf. It was an opportunity to wail on her Shego might never get again.

She didn’t though.

She stared until the obvious question came to mind as the girl sat up. “How did you – where did you—?”

Priscilla’s eyes popped wide and locked on Shego’s. Her bloodied mouth fell open. 

Suddenly she was gone.

“Hey! Get back here!” Shego shouted, and she dove after the – the apparition? Enemy? Intruder? She definitely landed on _someone’s _legs. Warm and very real to the touch, but completely invisible. Her fingers dug in to latch on, and a squeal punctuated the moment the sharpened tips of her gloves sunk through denim jeans. The girl, invisible or imagined, twisted in Shego’s grip and a heel struck her shoulder, but it wasn’t enough to dislodge her.

_“Show yourself!” _Shego demanded, grappling with the invisible intruder until she had the writhing girl pinned with a knee to her gut and arms held to the floor.

The squirming stopped. She felt the girl heaving for air. “Get offa me first, how ‘bout that?” spat the disembodied voice below her.

Shego hesitated.

A voice at the back of her head warned her she really shouldn’t, but she slowly backed off, one hand secure around a wrist.

Or so she thought.

A twist, and there was nothing but plain empty air to grip before she could grab hold of anything else. She was up and running, almost thankful for those middle school years in track together, and she slammed into the door just as it cracked open, slamming it shut in consequence. She locked it and leaned back heavily, blocking the only escape. The only escape she knew of anyway.

She reached out for the open air in front of her, feeling nothing. “I _know _you’re here,” she hissed. “How are you doing that? Did my brothers set you up with some kind of cloaking device? Did they send you?” That had to be it. “Show yourself!”

“Are you gonna punch me again?” seethed a voice from clear across the den, in the nook leading to Drakken’s room. She must have been planning to try an escape through the only other available door.

_“Maybe!” _Shego laughed incredulously. The idea of socking her was enticing – but getting some answers was regrettably more important.

She waited on edge for a reply.

Several seconds passed before Priscilla tried to haggle with her. “I’ll stop when you stop.”

“Stop what?”

_“Your hands, _pussycat.”

Her glance flicked down. Without consciously intending to, her hands were outstretched to her sides, clutching hot crackling plasma ready to throw. It took a deep breath and determination to withdraw it, taking comfort in knowing she could flare up again in an instant if need be. It would seem whatever trick Priscilla had up her sleeve, she could call on it just as quickly, so she had that to contend with.

Shego set her hands on her hips and waited impatiently.

Like a camouflaged chameleon, the disguise faded away until the girl was plain as day on the far side of the room.

“Alright, fork it over,” Shego insisted, holding out a hand.

“Fork what over?”

“The cloaking – _whatever _they gave you – whatever it is you’re doing that with! I want all your bugs on the table, _right now,”_ she insisted, mustering up the commanding tone she’d once used on her little brothers. Issuing orders to Priscilla, one year her senior and the bad influence since preschool, felt a little wrong – but Shego had busted her fair and square infiltrating her boss’s lair—

She realized with a nervous skip of her heartbeat that she’d messed up. The fact someone had infiltrated at all, worse yet _because _of her, could not go over well with Dr. Drakken. Especially if the rat had been sent by the infamous spy organization manipulating her former team. She was guilty by association. She could always pretend she’d _invited _Prissy over – but Drakken was liable to blow a gasket – and there was still the problem of Global Justice – who was she kidding? That was a crappy idea. It would never work.

“Geez, Shi, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” scoffed the girl as she straightened her pink letter jacket.

“What?” she snapped. _A ghost? _Well, in a way she had. Priscilla must have been the ghoul haunting the lair. It would explain a lot. She shook her head and persisted. “The bugs. Any GJ tech you got on you. Get rid of it. Now.”

Priscilla crossed her arms and sneered. “What makes you think I’m working for _them?”_

“Because!” Shego spat. She almost stepped away from the door to storm up to the leery girl to throttle answers out of her. “Why else would you just show up right after my brothers? And you can’t expect me to believe you aren’t bugged when you can – when you can—,” she heaved for breath and reached for her temple.

_Was _she bugged? Practically ever since she became _Shego,_ the slippery girl had evaded any attempt to confront her. Every time without fail, she’d disappeared without a trace.

Shego gawped at the girl who’d walked out of her life years ago, not unlike others. She had a lot of nerve to come walking back in now.

Priscilla’s smile wasn’t friendly. “That’s cute. You think you were the only ones in the blast radius to be affected when Lady Fate gave the neighborhood a makeover?” she snorted. “You think you’re the center of the world as always, I see. Still wanna feel _wanted_ and _special?”_

A wolf in a cotton-candy sheep’s clothing, Priscilla sure knew where to hit where it hurt. Shego swallowed bile and willed herself not to let the wound show. Prissy would only pick at it.

“What do you mean, _affected?” _Shego hissed.

“Come on, you’re smarter than that. Don’t tell me you never noticed.” The intruder’s eyes idly wandered away and she tugged at the leaf of one of Drakken’s houseplants in the nook. “Those criminals you used to fight. Some seemed a little extra _special, _didn’t they? Kinda gifted, right? Funny how they didn’t pop up until after the impact.”

“Team Go aren’t the only ones with a glow,” Shego surmised flatly, though the possibility was still hard to wrap her head around. Global Justice had worked tirelessly to track down anyone who might have had even the faintest trace of a glow, evaluating everyone who’d been within the blast radius. _Supposedly._ They’d lied before. They’d even tried lying about Lady Fate striking Go City at all, though it had been too big a crater to cover up overnight.

“Uh-huh,” said Prissy nonchalantly, breaking off a large leaf of Drakken’s monstera plant to fan herself with. She sighed. “Look, I was gonna just mess with you a bit and pop out and be like, _surprise! We can be besties again! _But then I find out you’re still doing the whole _Shego _thing, and now it’s all kind of weird.” She blew a raspberry and feigned a pout.

Shego stared with a raised eyebrow for a long moment before laughing incredulously. “You can’t expect me to believe that crock,” she shot.

“Mickey went to talk to you last night, didn’t he?” Prissy innocently wondered. “He was supposed to anyway. He was gonna explain how we couldn’t keep hanging out with you as long as Global Justice was watching you. We didn’t want to get busted and drug into it and made to join some stupid team just because it was the _right thing to do.”_ The way she rolled her eyes, Shego was inclined to believe her.

Her chest ached. She couldn’t believe that she was buying it. “You seriously – you seriously have a glow?” she blurted. “Then why can’t I see it?”

Priscilla shrugged. “There are things the human eye can’t see,” she explained simply, and as she did, the big jagged leaf was engulfed in a shimmer like heatwaves down to every tip, and then it was gone. Yet she continued to fan herself with it. “We really did think it would be cool to reconnect and all, but I guess this was a waste of time since you’re still Shego. I should probably bail.”

Shego took a single cautious step away from the door. “Yeah. You should. I’ll get Doc to take me into town for lunch so you can hitch a ride in.” Was she seriously about to let a potential spy go running back to snitch? Potentially so. “Just keep it low-pro until then.” She’d have to weigh the potential drawbacks for beating her to a pulp later.

“Sure thing, babe,” chimed Priscilla, her apathetic voice already disembodied.

A knock at the door made Shego jump and swear under her breath. How many times was she going to jump today? She should not be this jumpy. She was willing to blame side effects of the drug.

“Shego? Are you in there?” called Drakken. “Why is the door locked? Oh, fiddlesticks, where are my keys…?”

For a fleeting moment she considered holding the door shut, but disregarded the childish notion and reluctantly unlocked the door for Drakken instead.

He must have been leaning on it trying to force it open, because he came stumbling in. “Ah, Shego! There you are,” he greeted, a little winded as he patted her on the shoulder. “Look what I found! Look, look, just look.” He was determined to make her look even if she didn’t want to, practically shoving an item in her face. So much for trying not to be childish.

She glanced between him and the door and where Priscilla had been standing moments ago across the room, until Drakken stepped into her line of sight to model goggles more absurd and protruding than his usual magnification set.

“You look ridiculous,” she grumbled as he spieled an explanation on infrared goggles and how they worked. He eagerly attempted to cinch them down and begin a search as he prattled, but she reached for them to pull off his head. “Can we play ghost hunters later? I’m starved,” she groused, trying to stay situated directly in front of him so he couldn’t peek past her to take a look around.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge,” he dismissed. He cracked a huge grin and reached for her face. “Oh, do _you _look strange.”

She swatted his hand away from her cheek. “You’re one to talk. Chow. Now.” Her blush had to be visible enough _without _thermal imaging.

“No,” he said stubbornly. “I’m going to prove it to you. I am not imagining things.” He sidestepped around her.

Shego grabbed for his wrist, willing her hand to remain cold as she did, and tugged him back toward the door. “Okay, fine. I believe you. There’s a ghost. Now can we please just go—”

“Shego?” Drakken’s confident and eager demeanor had changed in an instant. He seemed suddenly smaller, with a wavering note of fear in his voice. She didn’t like the sound of it. “W-what’s that?”

“W-w-what’s what?” she mocked with a sarcastic stutter. He was pointing a trembling finger behind her before she could pull him back to the door. She knew exactly what he had to be pointing at, but wryly suggested anyway, “I’unno. A plant?”

A hand rested on her shoulder then, and it wasn’t Drakken’s. She spared a tiny glance down, saw the fingers, and heard the intruder’s voice practically in her ear. “Gig’s up, babe.”

Drakken squealed and lurched away. “It can talk!” he shrieked, and Shego all but ripped his hodgepodge homemade goggles off so he could see for himself that it was no ghost hovering behind her before he could faint.


	38. Whose Side – 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I ever mention my undying question, _Why do they always call Kim Possible by her full name?_  
It's almost as if there was a "Kim" before...  
That's my excuse anyway.  
Read and enjoy I hope.

Shego sat on one end of the couch, nearest the exit and braced to cut off Priscilla, who now slouched at the far end. Meanwhile Drakken wore a deep scowl of displeasure as he paced anxiously with his hands behind his back, as he had been for several minutes now.

“You’re  _ positive  _ she is not a spy?” he snapped for the umpteenth time, shooting a quick glare back at Shego. She wasn’t particularly fond of the trace of distrust in his gaze.

She rolled her eyes. “If she was, backup would be here by now.” There wasn’t much she could do to convince him when she could barely convince herself.

“You’ll vouch for her?” asked Drakken, sounding almost incredulous.

She really didn’t want to. “Yeah,” she muttered. It was all she could do to reassure him.

The blue man was back to pacing, practically stomping. He grumbled something about a  _ memory modifier _ that was still only theoretical, but she was sure he whipped out his notebook to jot something down because he only now thought of it on the spot.

When he snapped the notebook shut and tucked it away in his coat pocket, his scowl settled on the bored intruder with her foot bouncing and a cheek rested on her fist. His face flushed and he looked away from the prankster who’d given him quite the scare the past two days, and he frowned instead to Shego. “You’re positive—?”

Shego stood and took a long step over the coffee table to grab him by the sleeve and tow him toward the door. “Let’s just get her out of here already, alright?”

He mulishly planted his feet, but inevitably stumbled after her.  _ “Shego,” _ he hissed, prying her fingers away. “I know she’s your friend and all, but—”

“She is  _ not _ my friend,” she tersely corrected.

Drakken stopped dead in his tracks again, studying both Shego and the intruder. After a pause he harrumphed and lowered his voice. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I…?” He gestured to his throat in no subtle manner.

She cringed but shook a finger in his face. Ghost or no ghost, she had to wonder again if someone had been killed in the lair. Murder was a wicked deed and he claimed to be evil after all, but that was a concern to confront him about some other time.  _ “Yes, _ I  _ do _ mind, actually. If she goes missing, someone might actually come looking for her,” she reminded in a whisper.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Drakken grumbled darkly.

Attempting again to tug him toward the door, she sunk her nails into the back of his hand until he whimpered just slightly. “If she  _ is _ with them, then they  _ will _ bust us,” she warned, and tried to be optimistic. “Even if she is, I don’t think she has any evidence yet or they would’ve stormed the place. I don’t think she even knows where we are.” Priscilla had already filled them in, admitting to stowing away in the van yesterday and being stuck in the lair ever since –  _ supposedly. _ Not that she could be trusted. The idea of being spied on for two days was an unsettling one, though not one Shego was unfamiliar with. It still gave her the heebie-jeebies.

Drakken took a couple clumsy steps after her, frowning back unhappily at the intruder. It was a relief – briefly – when he yielded to Shego’s persistence and stepped forward on his own accord, leaning close as he passed by to hiss through his teeth, “If she blows it for me…”

Shego scoffed after him. “Are you threatening me?” she shot. It wasn’t a threat. Was it?

The startled look in his eye reassured her it wasn’t. He curled his lip and shook his head. “I’ll explain Plan B later. When we’re  _ alone,” _ he said above a whisper, and added even louder as he headed for the door, “Come, Shego. And… _ guest.” _

She was almost frozen in place at the bitterness in his tone, but Priscilla jabbing a finger into her back then made her jerk away and start moving again. “So, what are you?” wondered Prissy, following her uncomfortably close and lowering her voice. “His chick or his sidekick?”

Shego’s face heated and her hands crackled. She clenched her fists and forced back the urge to take another swing at the girl, though the temptation to outright blast the smirk off her face instead took more effort to resist than she was proud of.  _ “Accomplice,”  _ she ground out dryly.

“So you’re the sidekick,” said Prissy with an understanding nod. When Shego’s scowl deepened, she guessed again. “Henchlady?”

It felt like an insult. She wasn’t on the level of the average henchman, though technically she was still obligated to take orders and follow like one. “If you don’t zip it, you’re going to  _ need _ that nose job you always wanted,” she warned.

Priscilla didn’t stay quiet long enough. As they stepped out into the garage, she opened her big mouth again. “Oh, so  _ that’s _ where that went!” she piped up. The finger pointing practically over Shego’s shoulder made it hard to mistake the object in question. “Did those clowns give it to you as a parting gift? Sheesh, Shi, I thought you knew how to fly. Looks like you crashed it.”

There was no denying the stolen Go Jet was looking more like scrap metal every day. “It’s undergoing some remodeling,” she bluffed, knowing full well the intruder could see through it.

“Think you could take me for a joyride sometime?”

Shego was inclined to deny her on the spot, but instead her eyes narrowed on the back of Drakken’s head. “Yeah, maybe,” she said bitterly, loud enough for him to hear. “When it’s  _ finished.” _ The rogue doctor’s confident stride was hitched with a wince.

As Drakken gestured to the van for them to climb in, he flashed a phony crooked smile at Shego. “It’ll be done before you know it,” he promised with a wink.

“You can keep talking, but I wanna see  _ results,” _ Shego hissed back in passing.

He sidestepped around her, patting her shoulder and adding confidently, “We’ll get there.”

From shotgun, Shego kept watch on the intruder settling in for the ride behind Drakken’s seat. Priscilla didn’t have to be told to keep her head down as they left the lair to prevent her from knowing its exact whereabouts, but Drakken reminded Shego several times to keep a sharp eye on the sneaky girl. It wasn’t until they were in town did Priscilla move from her spot to lean between the seats and survey the surroundings, against Shego’s order no less.

“Hey, Mr. Dragon. You guys got a Bueno Nacho around here?”

Drakken’s already-creased brow furrowed deeper. “It’s  _ Doctor. Drakken,” _ he enunciated crossly. “And  _ no, _ there isn’t. Sit down.”

The intruder dropped back down and folded her legs. Ignoring Dr. Drakken within earshot, she leaned over toward Shego and wondered, “Does this guy always have a stick up his ass?”

A small laugh escaped. She wasn’t sure if she was nervous or actually found it funny, but one glance to Drakken’s frown, and Shego silenced the chuckle. “Yeah. You get used to it.”

“I do not,” objected Drakken in a grumpy little grumble. He sank down a tiny bit, his scowl at risk of turning into a pout.

Priscilla blew a raspberry and leaned an elbow on Shego’s knee. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Drakken hit the brakes hard enough for Priscilla to fall over. “Alright, she can get out now.”

“But we’re in the middle of traffic,” Shego blurted, taken aback by the spur-of-the-moment decision.

A horn beeped impatiently behind them. Drakken rubbed his temple. “I am  _ aware.” _

“Alright, I get it,” said Priscilla in exasperation, throwing her hands up and rising to her feet. “You two wanna be alone. I’m out. See ya, Shi.”

Shego couldn’t duck away fast enough before sticky lips pressed to her cheek with a wet smack, and she wiped the cherry lip gloss away as Priscilla hopped out the side door before she could utter a word of disgust. She settled for flipping her the bird as they drove away, but the girl only beamed and raised both middle fingers right back as if it were merely a show of affection between them.

“Who is she?  _ What _ is she?” pressed Drakken, his hands tightening around the wheel as they started off again. “I don’t like this, Shego. Your friends—”

“Ex-friends.”

_ “Ex-friends _ are too…suspicious.”

Shego sighed miserably and crossed her arms. “Hey, this is new to me too.” Sort of. Mickey had always had a knack for calming her down, particularly in recent years, and Prissy had always been good at giving people the slip. A grunt from Drakken prompted her to give a brief explanation, “They’re just old neighbors. We drifted apart. I really don’t think they’re working for anyone—”

“Yes, the best spies give that impression.”

She couldn’t help snorting on a laugh. Had he forgotten she’d worked alongside a spy organization? Of course she knew that. “Trust me, if they were on my brothers’ side, they’d be on us like flies on shit. We wouldn’t have known what hit us.” Her effort to reassure him must have had little effect, because he was still tense and frowning. “Relax, Doc. You took me in and you knew I actually  _ was _ a hero.”

_ “Exactly!”  _ he practically shouted, almost throwing his hands up from the wheel. “And I had reason to believe you’d given it up and I had something to gain. Who couldn’t use a superhuman on their side? But  _ this _ woman I know nothing about!”

She was an asset at his disposal – that was nothing new – but somehow being reminded still stung like Priscilla’s  _ henchlady _ comment. “You’ll just have to take my word for it,” she said carefully. “You trust me, right?”

Drakken opened his mouth as if to fire off some retort but closed it again. He was practically huffing and puffing for a minute before calming down flicking a glance in her direction. “I  _ do  _ trust you,” he said somberly. “But I’ve been tricked before.”

“I’m not gonna—”

“I’m not worried about  _ you _ tricking me,” he clarified. He was frowning back out the windshield again. “Right. Plan B. If things go south, I vacate the lair and go north. Ship everything to Alaska and start over there.” The notion clearly didn’t thrill him.

She almost opened her mouth, almost informed the man that her younger brother already knew he had a backup hideout in the northernmost state. She kept her silence instead, unsure if it was any better than risking another act of treason from the friend who’d disowned her years ago. Priscilla had been looking out for herself back then, so choosing to work for  _ big brother _ to rat her out now was simply too hard to believe.

Hopeful to divert the conversation and forget about the possibility of resorting to a Plan B, she managed a wry smile. “I thought you were joking about the Alaskan lair thing?” she said in jest.

“No,” he grunted. “It’s not much of a lair, but it’s somewhere to go in case I need to skip down.”

“What about me?” she ventured.

Drakken’s glance was almost nervous. “What about you?” His second glance lingered, and he bit his lip. A faint purple hue spread across his face. “You’ll have to stay. Keep up the charades with your brothers.”

“If you have to skip town because they bust us, there will be no charades to keep up,” she noted.

“Then we’ll – I’ll – arrangements will have to be made,” he sputtered. “We’ll worry about it if the time comes.”

“It’s some crappy little cabin, isn’t it?” she teased. She knew by his deepening blush that she couldn’t be far off the mark. It wouldn’t surprise her if the Alaskan hideout was on the cheapest parcel of land he could get.

Drakken grunted irritably.  _ “Enough,”  _ he carped. “I have a job for you.”

Interest piqued, she arched an eyebrow his way. “I’m listening.”

**++X++**

Drakken cut the wheel, turning a corner and pulling haphazardly to the curb. “Follow her,” he ground out. “Make sure she’s not running off to rat us out.” If the strange interloper  _ was  _ a rat, the contingency plan would have to be set in motion immediately, as much as he hated to consider it. It took all his resolve not to panic – but he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he’d survived his accomplice’s superhero family coming to town just last week. Still, it was too soon to be dealing with suspicious superhumans again.

Apprehension played across Shego’s face for a fleeting moment as she tugged at her specialized gloves. Drakken had the sneaking suspicion she was hesitant to step out in public in her trademark uniform, but before he could ask if she had a problem following his order, she was popping open her door. The look in her eyes had hardened in an instant, and just like that, she looked more like the mercenary he’d hoped he’d hired and not just some girl in a costume who hung around to give him headache after headache. He hoped those headaches – and this one too – wouldn’t be for nothing.

“I’ll phone you if there’s anything fishy,” she assured before climbing out.

Drakken didn’t have a chance to wish her luck. She turned on her heel and in the blink of an eye she bolted toward the nearest building and took a running leap at the wall like a panther – half jumping, half climbing up it – and vanished onto the roof. Drakken leaned as far over as his seatbelt allowed, eyes wide as he gawped out the passenger window in time to catch a glimpse of the shadowy green figure leap from one rooftop to another, backtracking to locate her target.

He sat back and scratched at his scalp, muttering to himself that he could have  _ driven  _ her back to the dropoff location.  _ “Showoff,” _ he grunted, and turned back for the lair to let his accomplice track down the suspect as discreetly as possible.

The temptation to  _ try  _ to keep up with her definitely had him itching to turn the van around, but he had more important business to attend to than trying to compete with her and consequently getting in the way. It just wasn’t in his best interest.

Back at the lair, he practically paced a rut in the earthen floor, wringing his hands to rub away the itch he had to jump the gun and pack up the place. He tried deep breaths to calm himself – he even tried tea for his nerves – but the fear still lingered. Someone had snuck in, someone with the gift of  _ invisibility.  _ There was truly no telling how long the woman had been creeping around his lair, how much intel she’d gathered, who she could be running back to. Though the ghostly occurrences and appearance of Shego’s old friends aligned, he was hesitant to trust the strange young lady from Go City with connections to superheroes. How could Shego be so sure the girl wasn’t a threat? She couldn’t possibly be that naive. He wished it  _ was _ just a ghost haunting his lair.

Delving into the coding of the Bebes’ hivemind did little to take his thoughts off the potential of being busted. Busted for _what _though? For having destructive ideas he hadn’t yet acted on? For having devices capable of vaporizing a man? As long as the spy hadn’t made it beyond the henchmens’ level, he was in the clear – unless the woman recognized any of the odds and ends that had been stolen here and there. Shego was an adult, and a few nights ago she’d happily shared her recent experience reminding her family so and standing up to them. If she wanted to be with him – work for him – _whatever_ – that was her choice. He hadn’t kidnapped her, and _he _wasn’t the one who’d stolen the jet from Team Go’s bay base. He’d made a few shady deals and his ethics were questionable at best, but he hadn’t done anything wrong. Nothing that could be proven, anyway.

He still wasn’t any good at convincing himself he could get off scot-free. In fact, he was worse at it than he was at revising and improving the scrawling expanse of coding that stung his eyes just looking at.

By the time he was finally absorbed in the task he’d given himself, the distant trill of a telephone fell on deaf ears until he at last recognized the sound cutting into his concentration.

He nearly fell out of the chair in his rush to sprint across the tech lab and into his quarters, gasping for air as he yanked the phone off the hook.

He was met with an apathetic, “I’m bored.”

Drawing one more gulp of air into his lungs, Drakken slumped over the counter and let it out in a huge huff. “Report?”

“Well, I’m freezing my ass off,” Shego informed with a lilt. “It drizzled for a bit. I followed them around town all day, but all they did was touristy bullcrap. As if this town is even worth touring.” Her frustrated groan right in his ear shouldn’t have sent a shiver down his spine. “Mostly they windowshopped all afternoon. Now I’m in a tree across the street from their motel room watching her do some gentle stretching over here near the Westinger. I can hear the karaoke from here.”

His brow furrowed. “Karaoke? What time is it?” he muttered.

“I’unno. Why don’t you tell me?”

A glance to the clock and he bit his cheek. It had been barely noon when he’d sent Shego off to keep an eye on the suspicious woman. It was nearly nine o’clock now. “Stay put. I’ll come get you.” He tried to sound more commanding than guilty, but he wasn’t sure he’d pulled it off.

“Sure thing, Doc,” droned Shego in lieu of a goodbye before hanging up.

He grabbed his coat off the back of the couch and within minutes was coasting into town in a van sputtering and threatening to die on him. Beating the dash, berating the automobile, and cursing the henchmen from afar for mechanic skills that left something to be desired certainly didn’t help anything, but he had to let out steam somehow before he faced the accomplice he’d given a task he’d nearly forgotten about. Would she have staked out the interloper all night if she hadn’t called?

He flicked off the headlights as he approached the sole motel just in sight of the Westinger, searching the barren trees for anything perching in them that didn’t belong there. Pulling over, he waited a moment for his accomplice to jump in out of nowhere, but impatience had him cutting the engine and stepping out to take a short walk across a lawn toward the row of elms.

She was better at hiding than he’d expected, because it took something striking the back of his head for him to whirl around and scan the branches above him for a long moment before he caught a glimpse of her. It helped that she moved, popping another milk dud in her mouth. Either she’d gone for a snack or she’d been prepared to wait a while in that tree. She didn’t look like she was ready to come down just yet.

Drakken eyeballed the branches, and after a long moment of squinting into the darkness and shadows, considered he might be able to reach one if he jumped as high as he could.

He probably should have thought twice about trying. He probably shouldn’t have thought of trying at all. He didn’t even stop to consider the point. If copying Shego’s maneuver from earlier was the idea, his execution of mimicry failed – he realized that much the moment his feet left the ground. He did not possess the agility nor the feline grace she did, though he wanted to believe his fingertips at least grazed the branch he aimed for before he crashed back to earth on his back.

He bit back the yelp with a choked,  _ “Gak!”  _ At least he wasn’t winded and wheezing this time. A bruised ego and a little dazed maybe, but not so much so to not notice the soft  _ thump  _ beside him as Shego landed lightly in the wet grass soaking his entire backside now.

When he didn’t take her offered hand, she pulled him forcefully to his feet by the arm before he could get up himself.

Back in the privacy of the van, she let out a long groan and kicked her feet up on the dashboard. “They were thinking about finding a place to rent out here.  _ Here!  _ She even got Mickey to apply for a job at a few places,” she groused. “I think they’re serious. They’re talking about checking out a trailer park tomorrow – the one where Gail and Chester live. This blows.”

Drakken’s lip curled. The idea of someone who could infiltrate so effortlessly living in his oasis didn’t sit well with him, but by the distraught frown his companion wore, she was taking it worse. Her friendships had gone sour and here they were, rearing their heads and brandishing promises of reconciliation while posing an imminent threat. He only suffered the  _ imminent threat  _ part this Priscilla Kimbley woman brought to the oasis.


	39. Whose Side – 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just uhh…just a girl tryna be normal...  
Things will get _serious_ soon, dontchu worry~

Come Monday morning, Shilo found herself staring out from between the blinds of her kitchen window. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, she watched for several long minutes, anticipating a jeep to pull up and searching for the faintest trace of an invisible woman, like footsteps appearing in the frosty lawn.

Her eyes stung. She’d had a rough night of tossing and turning, an uproar of thoughts plaguing her all thanks to the oasis’s potential new residents. A fiery punch of frustration to a pillow last night had only accomplished a mess of stuffing, but it had been worth it at the time to imagine the pillow was one of her  _ least  _ favorite people she was pummeling. If she saw her now, she might just spit acid – plasma, actually – in her face.

Shilo was expecting Drakken’s van to come sputtering out of the dark any moment now. He’d offered her a ride to Buckley’s, despite the change of plans now that he didn’t need a bodyguard to protect him from the paranormal. As the minutes passed, she began to consider hoofing it and forgetting about catching a ride, and tried  _ not  _ to consider the possibility something terrible had happened to him in the night.

Donning a jacket and stepping out into the chill, she muttered reassuringly to herself, “He must’ve slept in.” She hoped that was all anyway.

Before she reached the end of the block, the early-morning peace was broken by the familiar chugging of a van on its last leg. Her lips quirked up at the corners, but she forced them into a straight line as she turned to face the van idling beside her.

The amount of  _ white  _ Drakken wore today was startling, and she studied him with a raised eyebrow as she buckled in. A genuine lab coat she’d never seen before hung rumpled and loose all around him, a pair of goggles worn around his neck. The getup was complete with elbow-length rubber gloves. He was wide-eyed and wired, through certain features of his face screamed  _ tired. _

“Dude, did you even sleep last night?” she remarked. What did she care for?

“Uhm…” His eyes darted to her and away, and he tried to flash a smile. “No. Not at all,” he answered shamelessly, and was quick to defend himself when she let out a sound of disapproval along with her eye roll. “Oh, don’t give me that. _ You  _ wanted me to do something productive!”

“Well, what is it?” she goaded.

He shut his trap for a moment and stroked his chin thoughtfully before giving a tiny halfhearted shrug. “I’m not sure yet, but the flowers smell nice.”

_ “Flowers?”  _ She couldn’t begin to fathom what he was doing with flowers. Well, one idea did come to her, a thought along the line of bouquets, but it stirred an unwelcome flutter in her belly along with it, so she rejected the notion and crossed her arms.

“Orchids,” Drakken clarified. “I’d offer you one, but they’re too difficult to cultivate to just hand out willy-nilly.”

Well, now she wished he  _ did  _ have flowers for her – but she stamped that stubborn thought back as well.

She kept her trap shut the rest of the ride to Buckley’s. Before she could free herself of the stuffy confines of the van, Drakken cleared his throat. “Um. Are you—? Should I—?” he sputtered anxiously before gulping and managing a complete sentence. “If you wish to hide out at the lair this evening, speak now.”

She almost dismissed the offer, but second thoughts crept up on her before she could open her mouth. Every day she didn’t hitch a ride with him was a day she risked being roped into some scheme with Buckley’s girls. “Sure. Don’t be late,” she accepted with a bit more venom than intended. “Smell ya later, Doc.”

Drakken grunted indignantly as she hopped out. “I smell wonderful, thank you very much,” he shot back.

“Pickles and flowers are not the aroma of evil,” she reminded with a wry smirk.

To which Drakken only childishly stuck his tongue out at her, and he hit the gas practically before she could slam the passenger door shut.

When she turned around, she almost regretted the exchange. If only fleeting embarrassment was the worst of it. Leaned beside the door of Buckley’s Brew was the last face she wanted to see today – and the nuisance had made the conscious decision to show it. Arms crossed and pink as ever, Priscilla wore a smug smile Shilo wanted nothing more than to punch off her face.

“You stayed with him last night, didn’t cha?” she guessed, sounding so sure of herself as if she knew everything.

Shilo was glad she had the high ground of knowing she was wrong.  _ “Grow up,”  _ she scoffed, determined to keep her cool. Even if she  _ had _ stayed at the lair, she had her own room – but did Priscilla know that? Priscilla didn’t need to know, she decided. Priscilla didn’t need to know  _ anything _ . “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Your baby brothers,” she chimed, still all but barring the way in. “Those little bigmouths told me  _ all about _ how you promised to send them candy from here.” She jabbed her thumb to the storefront’s sign.

Keeping her cool was a necessity now. “I don’t want you  _ ever _ going near my boys again,” she hissed as she shoved Prissy aside.

“Whatever,  _ mom.”  _ Priscilla stuffed her hands in her pockets and began sauntering away down the sidewalk.

Shilo was frozen in place at the door, watching the girl until she’d rounded the corner. She didn’t trust her to have left that easy, but as she began her shift at Buckley’s, counting on each jingle of the bell to announce Priscilla’s return, she let an inkling of hope shine through that the nuisance had truly left to do something useful with her time – like maybe hitting the road to head back to Go City.

Shortly before the noon rush, a short curly-haired brunette came ambling in, slinging her backpack to the floor beneath the table in the corner. Within moments, Gail had a secretly-decaf to push across the counter toward her. “Did you pull it off?” she asked the girl.

“Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” chirped the teenager before taking a big satisfying gulp of her coffee.

Shilo looked between the snickering girls. “Alright, what did I miss?” she sighed.

“Jenny pranked her PE teacher,” said Gail.

“Got him  _ good!” _ chortled Jenny. “The creep totally deserved it.”

“What—?”

“I replaced his eye drops with hot sauce. He didn’t see it coming.”

Gail erupted with a hearty laugh, egging her on,  _ “And then?” _

“Pulled the fire alarm,” said Jenny proudly. She slapped a knee and laughed like a genuine jackass. Small as she was, it wasn’t hard to see the Buckley family resemblance.

Shilo was inclined to grimace at the two girls who found the not-so-harmless prank hilarious, but reminded herself of a pep talk she’d overheard Chester give Jenny last week about the perverted teacher who’d looked up Chester’s skirt last year. That same teacher had taken a shine to Jenny as well this year now that she was a senior going on eighteen.

When the laughter died down, Shilo was invited to join them in mugging the blinded creep when he came back from the hospital – as a group, for a little miscreant team bonding – but she’d declined with the excuse her  _ villain _ boss was waiting on her.

After several minutes of waiting out back though, Gail popped out to light up and wonder where that villain boss of her was. She didn’t want to admit he was a no-show, so she shoved off from the wall and began walking. For a block or two, she tried not to walk too fast, but it became clear the man wasn’t just running late. She groaned to herself, considering breaking out the nifty new mobile phone he’d given her, but decided not to bother.

A soak in the tub and touching up her manicure was a better use of her afternoon than waiting around for him anyway.

She still jumped up when the phone rang and rushed to it a little too hastily. She opened her mouth, ready to chew Drakken out for leaving her hanging, but the words fell short when a different voice met her ear.

“Hey! Is this Shilo?” blurted the overeager caller before she could utter a word.

“I – yeah?” she muttered in reflex. The voice was familiar, but at the same time it wasn’t. She knew she’d know it if she heard it in person and not over the telephone. Before she could ask the obvious –  _ who is this? _ – the boy chuckled.

“It’s Tom,” he said blithely, and she relaxed and tensed simultaneously. Just Tom. Good old average-boy Tom. Unfortunately the same Tom she’d given her number to last Friday but couldn’t clearly recall if she’d agreed to a second date with. She  _ hadn’t, _ had she?

She wound her finger around the cord, knowing exactly why the night had gotten hazy after the shoddy karaoke performance – but the spark of plasma at the rekindled fire in her blood had her holding the telephone with her shoulder so she could shake the heat from her hands.

Whether she’d explicitly agreed to a second or not, Thomas Thompson was bold in asking to meet her at the 24-Seven. She agreed with an awkward, “Uh, sure,” before she had the slightest clue what she was agreeing to. She chastised herself as she hurried to lace up her sneakers to meet him in ten.

She decided, upon seeing him dismount from his tacky moped, that maybe she didn’t need an alibi that badly after all. But then he flashed pearly whites and shook his windswept golden hair back into place and that doubt flew out the window. She could even forgive him for keeping her waiting again.

Drawing a breath to steel herself, she gave a small wave and a strained smile. Tom was a nice enough boy, she told herself as he tripped on the curb in his hurry to get the door for her. The five minutes or so he spent debating which brand of diet soda pop to pick was tolerable, even if he was still hem-hawing over the selection by the time she’d paid for her Freezee and took her first sip. She barely suppressed a groan when he gave up diet sugar-free bottled disappointment in favor of regular grape soda.

Even if she’d let herself, she wouldn’t have been able to open her mouth to comment on the angel boy’s indecision before the bell above the door jingled, followed by the clamor of boisterous girls. The voices were regrettably recognizable, and she couldn’t help cringing and turning her back pointedly to them.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the black sheep!” came the bubbly call of Priscilla, and Shilo knew without turning that  _ she _ was the black sheep in question.

“You know her?” wondered Gail, a frequent shoplifter at this particular 24-Seven. She’d yet to be caught, even after a daring stickup Shilo herself had been involved in. Today Abigail’s interest was in a candy dispenser behind Shilo, as she shouldered her out of the way to take advantage of the malfunctioning machine that gave extra handfuls of chocolate with just the right sleight of hand.

Priscilla was pressing in too close, all but cornering Shilo. She took quick inventory of available exits – but the aisles were narrow and Mickey, Prissy, and Gail blocked the direct route to the door while Tom stood dumbfounded behind her – she just as quickly decided that leaping over the shelving to make an escape would be excessive if not jumping the gun, so she swallowed bile and swatted Priscilla’s hand away as the girl reached out to run her fingers through her hair.

“Bleach it blonde already, Shi,” advised Prissy with a sickly-sweet voice. “Then no one will be able to tell you’re going gray.”

Shilo couldn’t help smoothing her hair back in reflex, shooting daggers at Priss. Even if she did have grays – which she didn’t –  _ blonde _ just wasn’t happening. Even if she  _ did _ stand out like the black sheep among the crowd of blondes.

“Oh, fuck off already,” she spat, and the tiny shocked gasp behind her reminded her of Thomas Thompson and his virtuous mouth. She grit her teeth and tried not to roll her eyes.

Priscilla took no offence. “I’ve missed you too,” she shot back and plucked a soda from the shelf as she turned to beam back at Gail loading her pockets with candy. “I like it here already. Some fine dudes in this town.”

“Yeah, if that’s what you’re into,” grunted Gail around a mouthful of chocolate.

Shilo didn’t miss the cagey glance she shot up toward Mickey, who was bashfully quiet as he loomed behind Priscilla. “How much can you bench?” Gail asked the young man with a note of genuine curiosity. Shilo had to wonder how long it would take Gail to try swaying Mickey into henchwork to score brownie points with Buckley, and had to believe Mickey was above it.

She took her chance to spin around, nearly running directly into Thomas in her haste to escape the aisle while the girls chattered about Mickey Goldsmith’s physique as though he weren’t even there. She didn’t mean to stop at the door and shoot Mickey a sympathetic glance as Priscilla sarcastically called him a  _ trophy _ and stood on up her toes to pinch his cheek – which he rubbed at the second Priss looked away. Shilo inwardly commended him for taking the teasing in stride.

Thomas pausing to pay for his soda and delay her escape was almost enough to make her leave without him. She’d barely taken two steps away from the 24-Seven when he mounted his moped and called over expectantly, “Alright, hop on.”

She paused and stared with curled lip at the scooter. The jeep parked on the other side was what convinced her to step back toward him, if only because it was sure to make a quicker getaway.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his bright smile faltering. “It doesn’t go very fast.”

_ Speed _ was not her biggest concern, but he didn’t need to know about the glitter of plasma coating her palms like sweat at the mere idea of sitting so close. She rubbed her free palm on her pant leg as she cautiously came to stand beside the scooter. A glance up to the storefront, and she could see Priscilla noticing she’d slipped away. She swallowed the fire swelling up in her chest and swung her leg over what sufficed as a back seat as Priss made for the exit after her.

Tom suggested she hold onto him – she opted not to – and away they went. He didn’t seem super eager to meet her friends. Ex-friends. Associates.  _ Whatever _ they were.

“Um, where are we going?” she wondered awkwardly as she clutched her quickly-melting Freezee between both hands. She focused on the murky turbulent water as they crossed the bridge rather than the boy’s back or the delicate gold chain around his neck.

“The park,” he answered simply. With the merry way he said it, she would expect the sort of park one sits down to on a warm sunny day for a picnic in the shade. But the sky now was overcast again, and soon it would be dark. They might even be in for some rain. “The lake is nicer, but they’re here too.”

“Who’s here?”

“You’ll see,” he said, and she didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling.

If she were back home in Go City, a spellbinding boy suckering her into taking a ride with him and promising to take her to meet some mysterious group would be extremely suspicious. Back in Go City, it was hard to take anyone at face value when no less than a dozen villains and lowlifes wanted her and her ilk dead.

Good thing she wasn’t in Go City anymore.

Shilo took a deep steadying breath and gave her palm a long moment of consideration before letting it rest on the boy’s shoulder. She wished it didn’t take so much concentration to stay mindful enough to not burn him, and the smile on her face didn’t feel like it belonged there. Tom knew she came from Go City. Thanks to her brothers, he knew she was  _ Shego _ in a past life – he didn’t have to know she was  _ still _ Shego with a different occupation – but at least that meant he knew she was a fire hazard. If he wanted to take the risk, so be it. He could burn in hell, for all she cared.

Before she knew it, Tom had pulled up to a curb and cut the engine.

As it turned out,  _ here _ was the riverfront park and  _ they _ were ducks. Still, it took the young man dashing after them wielding a loaf of stale bread from the day-old bakery outlet to realize what they were there for.

When she wondered aloud why he didn’t buy the good stuff – his family seemed well-off enough – he shrugged and gave her some story about how he and his righteous die-hard folks would buy up discount bread and road trip to the big city once or twice a month to hand out sandwiches to those in need. Overly proud of himself for his charity, he beamed and invited her to join them on the next trip. She feigned a smile and said she’d have to check her calendar.

She didn’t tell him so, but  _ Shego _ had put her life on the line more times than she could count for countless thankless civilians – therefore she wasn’t about to waste a perfectly good weekend handing out sandwiches. She’d done more than her fair share. Yet the boy’s pretty smile was almost enough to change her mind.

A date consisting of sitting on a soggy bench and tossing pinches of bread for noisy waterfowl while a motormouth went off in her ear wasn’t her idea of romantic, but each glance his way sent a sickening stirring through her that nearly set her ablaze. The  _ least _ romantic date imaginable, she decided, was probably for the best.

Sparingly few words slipped past her zipped lips while the boy pried ever so gently about things that didn’t matter, like when she’d last gone to the park to feed the ducks, what was the ocean like, how she was settling in at the little desert oasis, if she’d made many friends yet.

The answers didn’t come easily. Her throat tightened up, thinking of the  _ last time _ she’d gone out to intentionally feed the birds, her baby brothers in tow to throw fries at flocks of screaming seagulls. Describing the warm salty breeze and sand between her toes induced a bout of homesickness. As for friends and settling in, she had to clam up. Buckley’s girls could hardly be considered friends, she could tell him that much – but she’d already lied about knowing the one friend in the oasis she  _ did _ have.

“What about those girls at the convenience store?” wondered Tom with a tilt to his head better suited for a puppy. She could at least kiss and coo at a puppy and tell it how dimwitted it was without it taking offence.

Her face flushed hotter than ever at the thought of getting quite  _ that  _ close to try it on him anyway, and to be on the safe side she scooted ever so slightly further away toward the end of the bench. “Just people I know from Buckley’s Brew,” she muttered. It was a good enough excuse.

“Ah,” he said with an almost sad nod of understanding. The overcast on his face cleared suddenly and he was beaming brightly at her again. “If you swing by the church out on Lavender Avenue this Sunday, I can introduce you to some of mine. Or I could pick you up,” he offered hopefully.

If it weren’t for the pink appearing in her peripheral on her other side, she might have laughed in reflex and asked him if he was joking. But instead, the beginnings of an incredulous smile fell as she turned a sharp glare away from Tom, locking her gaze on Priscilla who’d come to stand so close that Shilo could almost choke on her overwhelming fruity body spray.

Fragrant as she was, Priscilla wasn’t her usual bubbly self at the moment. “You know bread is bad for them, right?” she informed in an unusually somber tone. Tom stopped himself from tossing another slice of white bread to the swarm of ravenous fowl, but before he could question the young woman, the birds had inhaled the last of the crumbs and begun to close in on Prissy. She curled her lip and kicked out at the nearest one before jumping back. “Nevermind,” she spat. “Give ‘em the whole damn bag.”

Putting on a fake smile like her makeup in the morning, Priscilla’s bubbliness was forced as she plopped down at the end of the bench, too close and warm against Shilo’s side, all but forcing her to scoot closer to Tom. Priss reached over her, extending a hand toward him. “Nice to meet you,” she said, feigned friendliness enough to fool almost anyone. “So you’re Shi’s new boyfriend, huh?”

Shilo squeezed her heated hands between her knees to hide the sparks of plasma.

“I’m not sure about  _ boyfriend,”  _ chuckled Tom with a nervous smile. “But it’s nice to meet you too, uhm…?”

“Priscilla.”

“Tom.”

Stuck between them as they shook hands in greeting in front of her, Shilo rolled her eyes. “I should get going,” she said, shoving their arms away a little too roughly so she could stand up.

“I’ll give you a ride,” piped Tom. She had the sense he was proud of his scooter. She’d be more impressed if it was a souped up hotrod.

“Actually, I—”

A hand caught her wrist. “Hey! You could come help me unpack,” suggested Priscilla, practically using Shilo to pull herself up from the bench. “We can order a pizza and do each other’s hair and nails like we used to. How ’bout it?”

Tom’s raised brow and glance between them was all Shilo needed to know she’d been caught in a white lie. She weighed her options – decline Prissy’s invitation and go with Tom, or snub them both.

Priscilla tugged at her while Thomas took a step back.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” said Tom, though it sounded like an offer to let her go. How generous. The angelic boy was too amicable for his own good.

A glance toward him and his moped parked at the curb a little ways off, and Shilo made her decision. Linking arms with Priscilla and giving her a jerk she hoped hurt her shoulder, she took a big step away from Tom and forced a smile onto her face. “I’ll see you around,” she said as warmly as she could manage, though she wanted nothing more than to sock Priscilla in the nose and call it a day. “Guess I gotta help Priss. She can’t lift more than ten pounds. She has scoliosis.” It was a half-truth. While Priscilla did have a mild case and would never win any medals for weightlifting for unrelated reasons, she wasn’t  _ that  _ feeble.

The dig wasn’t deep, but it was enough to earn a displeased grunt from Prissy. “Nice to meet you, Tom!” Priscilla called back sweetly with far too much sugar heaped on. “Maybe we can all hang out sometime.”

Shilo was getting closer to plasma-blasting the girl regardless of Tom for a witness to the violence. “Not if you value your face,” she quietly hissed through her teeth.

Thomas Thompson waved and called a pleasant enough, “Goodbye!” to them as Shilo tugged Priscilla away to the far end of the park, not particularly caring where she had left the old jeep.

Priscilla took the opportunity to bump her hip into Shilo’s and flash her a wry grin. “He’s cute,” she noted. “Your boyfriend know you’re two-timing?”

Shilo grimaced down at the woman now clinging to her arm, despite her effort to shake her off. “I am not,” she defended with sparingly few words. She didn’t need to defend herself. She didn’t need to give Priscilla the time of day.

“So!” said Priss, changing the subject. “I ran into your work buddy when I was checking out a place, and we got to talking, and thought we could make a date of all going out and doing some donuts—”

Shilo reached for her temple and the souvenir left behind from the  _ last  _ time, little more than a week ago now. “Pass,” she answered before Prissy could finish. 

“You can’t avoid me forever,” retorted the persistent young woman tugging her arm as she took the lead. She had a lot of nerve for someone who’d done just that for years.

“Yeah?” spat Shilo, and in a swift motion that caught Prissy by surprise, she raised a foot and kicked her in the side, dislodging her and knocking her to the muddy grass in doing so.  _ “Watch me!” _

Throughout middle school she’d been teased for having longer legs of the two, though most of that teasing had come from Priscilla herself, who never once outran Shilo in their years on track together. She didn’t let that go to her head now though as she bolted across the park, her sneakers clapping down on the sidewalk bordering the far side. Dashing through traffic and into the suburbs, she didn’t dare slow or even glance back until the streets became familiar again.

Gulping for air, Shilo inwardly chastised herself for not keeping up on her old training regimen since dropping out the team, and especially since coming to the oasis. She made a mental note to take advantage of the gym back at the lair, which she realized after some time that she was making a beeline for.

She was skulking down the unmaintained road that promised to take her out of town, hands in her pockets as she scowled at the fogline and stewed over the tedious date Priscilla, a blessing in disguise, had crashed, when an all-too-familiar engine came chugging up behind her.

Headlights washing over her, her sore feet came to a pause and she stuck out a thumb without looking back to be certain. As expected, the old white utility van rolled to a stop beside her, breaks squealing.

“Fancy meeting you here,” quipped Drakken as she climbed in.

“Get bent,” she hissed in lieu of a hello before she could think twice. She was apt to blame him, even if she knew it wasn’t fair. He’d failed to pick her up on time, and that had left her vulnerable to Priscilla. One heated glance his way and she wished she’d bit her tongue. He looked better rested now – not  _ well  _ rested, but rested nonetheless – and he must have taken the time to shower and groom himself, because his hair was clean and tied back and he didn’t smell so strongly of dill and flowers anymore. It was hard to fault him for taking care of himself.

Shego couldn’t help noticing the mild sting of runaway embers in her palms then, and she rubbed the tingle from her arms as she turned her glare to the windshield just as the onset of a sprinkle began to speckle the glass with droplets. She was more than ready to call it a day.


	40. Whose Side – 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop, a longer chapter.  
Bear with me.

Her foul mood was expected, but her curt greeting still stung like a viper bite.

“I-I’m sorry I’m late,” sputtered Drakken, glancing at his bitter passenger. Making up excuses was a lost cause, but the feeble explanation tumbled out of his mouth before he could think to match her callous attitude. “I slept through my alarm, a-and I got distracted, and then you didn’t answer when I called so I figured I had best come check on you, but you weren’t home—”

“Drakken,” she interrupted tersely with a voice cold and sharp as ice.

He gulped. “Yes, Shego?”

“Shut up.”

He bit his cheek to silence an objection. The van idled a moment more as he studied her dark glare fixed dead ahead, her arms folded tight across herself and the faintest hint of green glimmering from between her fingers, visibly containing how upset she was at – at him? What had _ he _ done? _ Besides _forget to pick her up from Buckley’s again? He wracked his brains quickly, but decided figuring her out was best saved for another time.

Attempting to appease her didn’t suit the image he was going for. He’d have to work on it. Nonetheless he couldn’t stop himself from piping up. “It’s not too late to pick up some Chow.”

Shego was silent.

Drakken turned the van around and said nothing of it when she dug out a pack of smokes from her pocket to light one up. He certainly kept his eyes off her every time she brought it to her lips to take a puff. Or he tried to, anyway.

By the time he’d navigated his way back to the Cow-n-Chow, she’d relaxed enough to kick her feet up on the dash and tune the radio. That came as some relief, but he knew better than to believe the danger had passed. Drakken was ready to order her usual for her when she spoke up, requesting salad instead. Erring on the side of caution, he ordered her usual anyway, which she tucked into and finished without a word before demanding another stop for a video rental.

He anticipated being presented with a dark and ominous film, but instead she returned to the van dully announcing she could use a laugh, and flashed the cover of a detective comedy. He had mixed feelings about the whimsical man in the picture, but ultimately decided it wasn’t his movie to watch and so the only opinion he spared was a grunt.

“Anything _ else?” _ could have been asked a little more nicely, but she could have answered a little more crossly too so he counted his blessings.

“Yeah. Do you have popcorn back home or should we pick some up?”

A sound of frustration snuck out of his mouth, but at least he could nod.

She’d get her popcorn and movie, and he – he had a backlog to catch up on. If there was any urgency to complete projects though, he quickly forgot about it when Shego’s fingers curled around his arm as he made to cross the tech lab to head downstairs. Weak against her pull, he followed her lead with nary a word in defiance.

He barely stifled his protest when he was shoved down onto the couch, his shoulders feeling strangely sunburned where she’d pushed him. “Shego, I can’t—,” was all that made it out of his mouth before her cold stare shut him up. He sat stiffly in place for a minute, contemplating ways to get out of a goodie-goodie comedy he already _ owned _ a copy of. He told her where the popcorn was when asked, but otherwise kept his lips zipped tight as the buttery aroma warmed the stale air.

Shego still wore the same stony glare as she wordlessly turned down the lights, popped in the tape, and threw herself down on the far end of the couch, guarding her bowl of popcorn she didn’t seem keen on sharing.

By the light of the previews, Drakken dared to watch her from the corner of his eye – and before they were over, he’d found the gall to unzip his lips. “Do I need to build a brain tap machine to figure out what has you so…so…,” _ pissed off _would not be a safe choice of words, he decided as Shego’s glare turned to sear through him. “Because I can and I will.” How hard could it be? Like a lie detector, but more in depth, right?

_ “Stay. Out. _ Of my brain,” she ground out. Slumping further and drawing her knees up, she added in a small grumble, _ “Jackass.” _

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her ire, but he knew a brain tap machine was off the table. For now.

Drakken crossed his arms and willed his gaze to stay on the television, but it strayed once more as scenes he’d seen before played out. She couldn’t be _ that _ angry at him for being so unfashionably late, could she? Puzzled, he stared until her jaded gaze darted to him, if only for a split second.

He hardened his own frown on the television, willing his arms to unfold, bracing himself to stand on the count of three – or ten – or one hundred. He made it to the count of sixty-five when he bit the bullet. His butt was lucky to have made it an inch from the cushion when a hand snapped out, nails digging into his shoulder. He could smell the trace of fabric smoldering beneath Shego’s palm, and felt the tremble before she retracted her grip and stuffed her hands in her armpits to hide the faint green glimmer emanating from her palms.

Swallowing and setting his jaw, Drakken stared down the moody young woman who did not appear to be enjoying her movie whatsoever. “I have better things to do with my time than—,” he began tersely, but of course was interrupted by his puzzling company.

“Lipsky, you are going to watch this _ normal _ movie with me, on a _ normal _ couch, on a _ normal _ television,” she said, her voice bearing a threat of consequence if he dared defy her. “And it’s going to be – I’m going to be—,” she was swallowing hard then as if to gulp down the frog in her throat, batting her lashes to blink away – oh for Pete’s sake, were her eyes misty?

This wasn’t a tearjerker movie, but he glanced to the television anyway as some silly, borderline obscene, gag played out.

_ “Yes?” _ he carefully urged, playing the odds she might shed a little light on the situation.

Shego all but blew up on him, flipping the bowl of popcorn balanced on her knees in the process. _ “NORMAL!” _ she shouted in frustration, and in the dim light, he caught a glimpse of the green embers fizzling and oozing from her palms as she clawed the air as if she wished to wring someone’s neck. “I want to feel normal! Just for a little while. So please. Forget about anything outside of this room for the next ninety minutes. Just shut up. Shut up and watch the fucking movie with me.” Given the daggers she shot at the television, it was a wonder she didn’t pelt it with plasma.

The startling outburst had Drakken pressed to the far corner of the couch, but at least she didn’t paw at any tears. She looked as though she’d rather throw punches before she let tears roll down her cheeks, though he was sure he saw the threat looming by the rapid flutter of her eyelids. He studied her as she curled into herself again.

He scoffed and gestured to his own blue skin. “Normal? Shego, normal is something people like us aren’t likely to be getting back,” he blurted out, much colder than intended. Even if true, once the words left his mouth, he braced to be struck with a punch, or maybe a glow-laced punch, or maybe hands around his throat, or—

Shego drew a shuddering breath and continued to glare at the television as though that would be enough to let out whatever pent-up frustration he was caught in the crossfire of. “It’s not just that,” he barely heard her grumble into her knees.

“Then what?” Drakken carped. She’d said shut up. He should have listened.

Thankfully a reprimand – verbal or physical – didn’t come, though he was so braced for one he was starting to cramp up. Shego was quiet for a long moment, until finally she exhaled slowly as though to calm herself. He swore he could see it, like breath on a chilly morning or a thin wisp of smoke after taking a drag. “It’s personal,” she said decisively.

In that case, whatever business she had with his television and couch tonight was none of his. Before second thoughts could weigh him down again, Drakken stood and played deaf to her displeased grunt behind him. He glanced to the door. He did have things to do. But he also had something he’d wanted to show her. He’d even tried to tell her so earlier, but she’d been determined to make him sit and keep her company.

“Do you mind if I—”

_ “Yes,” _she snapped.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” he griped back, barely without whining, and pinched the bridge of his nose before trying again. “I think you’ll like it. I was really looking forward to showing it to you.”

It was the truth. He’d intended to show her the rare orchid _ sometime _ this evening, ever since she’d asked about it on the ride to Buckley’s Brew. And right now, she sure looked like she could use something to lift her spirits. Though there was also a risk, given the funk she was in, that she could destroy the specimen without regard to its value or the lengths he’d gone through to construct the miniature biosphere to grow the picky plant in, let alone the seeds he’d acquired in a high-stakes gamble. With a little work under the scope, the plant he’d genetically-modified himself months ago had been brought to bloom years ahead of schedule.

Shego’s misty-eyed glare burned into him for a long moment before she gave a stubborn sniff and reached for the remote to stop the movie with a loud crackle of white-noise filling the room. “Whatever,” she said coldly. “I’m going to get dressed for bed.”

It was barely six in the evening – but Drakken refrained from bringing that up as she shouldered past him. Her burnt mattress and linen had yet to be replaced. He desperately hoped that by tomorrow, his couch wouldn’t need to be replaced too. He frowned down to the marks she’d left on his coat, blue fabric singed black where shoulder pads ought to be, and discarded the victim of his volatile hot-tempered accomplice over the back of a barstool.

He slowly counted to three – _ only _ three – before leaving his living quarters and into the tech lab. Already, Shego was nowhere in sight, but as he passed down the hall toward his office, he heard the shower running. He tried not to slow or pause or lean toward the washroom door, but he didn’t make it past in time to miss a distinct sniffle inside. She couldn’t _ possibly _ be that upset he’d failed to pick her up from Buckley’s. _ Personal, _ she’d said. Then it was none of his business, he reminded himself, squaring his shoulders and stalking off for his office once more.

She wanted to be _ normal, _ she’d stressed. What was that supposed to mean? Drakken again wracked his brains. What _ was _ her idea of normal? Was she homesick? Did she regret passing up her opportunity to rejoin her brothers? Just a few nights ago, when he’d mistakenly brought his own personal woes to her, they’d sat together in front of her television and she’d drowsily reminisced about piling up on the sofa for family movie nights, failing to console him through his acceptance that he may never see his own family again – though he could barely relate to whole idea of family movie nights as an only child. Did she miss that? Not being alone? He knew she had four brothers, at least, and a father, and presumably a mother too – in other words, some aspect of _ her normal _ was a sizable family. He was only one person, and he was not crowding henchmen into his quarters to substitute for a family. Androids and henchmen had to be a sorry substitute for family anyway.

Drakken stopped at the bottom of the staircase, sighing wretchedly and rubbing at a crick in his neck.

It was quite possible he was off the mark, but if she wouldn’t tell him what was on her mind and he couldn’t devise any mind-tapping devices to get to the bottom of it himself, he was left to speculate. Unfortunately _ speculating _was bound to give him a headache. Leaving Shego to sort herself out was possibly for the best, he decided, but he still turned for his desk to retrieve the orchid he’d left there.

He froze in his tracks when he lifted his eyes from the stone floor to see an uninvited figure sitting sidelong in his office chair, holding the glass pod containing the plant. Unplugged from what was essentially its life-support system, the delicate little biosphere was scarcely more than a glorified flowerpot, but it was still infuriating to see the intruder turning it over so carelessly.

The wave of alarm washing over him had Drakken scanning the room, frantically questioning where he’d had that blasted intruder alert button installed. That’s right – it was at the CCTV system desk across the office, in convenient reach of any henchman on security duty. _ Why _ didn’t he have a henchman stationed there anyway? He should know better than to let his guard down with a perceived threat in the area! He grit his teeth, inwardly berating himself.

“So,” cooed the young woman behind his desk before he could storm up to her. “Who’s this for?”

Frozen, Drakken couldn’t help a nervous gulp. There was no way she could know he’d brought it up from the basement for Shego. Then again, maybe she did. He thought out loud sometimes, and this stranger had the gift of invisibility to make spying a breeze. _ “Shego,” _ he growled through his teeth, though it wasn’t so much an answer as it was the irate wish for his accomplice to be beside him to explain the woman’s presence.

Miss Kimbley arched an eyebrow and smirked. “She doesn’t go for flowers,” she informed as if offering a helpful piece of information. “Oh, but try a fish dinner!” she recommended instead, smiling wider and chuckling, though Drakken failed to see what was so funny as there was certainly nothing comical about the territory she was suggesting. Even the henchcrew was strongly advised against cracking jokes of such nature.

Cheeks warming over, Drakken fixed a grimace on his face and hoped it was enough to mask his fluster. He sputtered something indignant and incoherent before he could stop himself, and he bit his tongue with a grunt and tried to form the words right before he spoke again. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” he demanded, crossing the room to yank the spherical biosphere from the intruder’s hands. She was _ Shego’s _ acquaintance, but he was certain Shego wouldn’t have willingly invited her in.

The woman shied back just a little bit at the bite in his tone, but then she rose to her feet, pushing the biosphere aside to stand toe to toe. Drakken decided to set it down for safety’s sake, though the thought occurred too late to cradle it in his arms and make a mad dash upstairs for Shego. Instead he glanced across the room toward the CCTV desk, wildly seeking the button to sound the alarm, and lurched back from the fingers spreading over his chest.

“I have an offer for you, Mr…?” said Miss Kimbley, but he recognized a honeycoated tone when he heard one.

“Drakken,” he hissed. He batted the hand away, taking a swift step back toward the staircase – and most importantly the alarm button across the room. “Dr. Drakken.” Hadn’t he clarified that earlier? Alias or not, maybe he shouldn’t be giving his name out to a potential Global Justice spy. Even so, if she had something to offer, she had something to gain, and it was practically reflex to inquire, “What do you want?”

Despite another step back, the intruder was invading his space once again. “Better question,” she chimed, giving the bottom of his tie a tug. He snatched her hand this time, and tried not to consider how cold her fingers felt compared to Shego’s, which he could so often feel warming him even through his gloves. She didn’t let up, clearly not taking the hint nor offence to his scowl and raised lip. “What do _ you _ want, Doctor?”

Impulse urged him to snap at her that he wanted her out of his lair. The woman was trespassing, therefore posed a threat, and he was inclined to trust Shego’s judgment that he ought to keep his distance. Which was hard to do with his back against the wall. His mouth was dry. Where was that button? Better yet, where was Shego?

“Whatever she’s offering, I can do better,” said the confident pretty little thing before him in a voice that made his stomach give a sickened flip-flop. An odd shimmer like a mirage glazed over the woman and she was gone – to the naked eye, anyway. He knew better than to believe she had _ left, _ not when he still felt the invisible touch running down his stomach and—

If he hadn’t had a reason to panic before, he certainly did at the first tug of his belt.

“Hands off, missy!” snarled Drakken, leaping to the side and stumbling over his own feet. He reached for his waist – everything was in place – and just to be sure everything was in order, he tucked his shirt in a little neater.

The ghost of Shego’s past was visible again, down on her knees, a chafed look on her face for a split second before one of deep consideration settled in its place. Her gaze strayed from him as he regained his composure, her hazel eyes darting to his filing cabinet. One of the drawers had been pulled open. Had she been rifling through his files? Without a doubt, if she was here to spy.

“You need a thief, right?” she said, taking a stab at finding his sweet spot from another angle. “Assassin? Watchdog? I’m your gal.” She stood, gesturing to herself.

She most certainly was _ not _ his gal. He didn’t _ have _ a gal. And even if he did, even if Shego – Drakken stopped that thought in its tracks and gnashed his teeth, hoping his glare was as menacing as the ones he practiced in the mirror. But by the slow bat of the intruder’s fake eyelashes, it was not.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he ground out, gesturing to the stairwell to signal it was time she took her leave. If she couldn’t take the hint, then he didn’t need someone on his crew who needed it spelled out for them.

Priscilla Kimbley glanced from the stairs to him, the calculating look still set in her furrowed brow. “Look, man, I need a change of pace,” she said pointedly, taking a step closer once again, but he squared his shoulders and balled his fists and she paused. Hopefully intimidated. Hopefully thinking twice about trying underhanded persuasion a second time. “Looks to me like _ Shego _ struck gold here. I saw some of your shit in the basement. Pretty wicked stuff.” Her wry smile was back. She couldn’t still be pushing for what he thought she was, could she? She didn’t _ look _ like the henchwoman type. She wouldn’t last a week in villainy.

Drakken glanced across the room to the button again. He could press it now, and Priscilla could be gone by the time the henchmen assembled, and if Shego was still in the shower – well, whatever the case, the intruder would be long gone before anyone could hope to catch her.

“Shego is more than I can handle, thank you,” he said stiffly, stepping toward the stairwell and nodding up it. He needed this woman out of his lair, before Shego could see her and he risked having another catfight on his hands. “Goodbye, please leave.” If only it was that easy. She understood the hint. No one was that stupid.

She still took her time sauntering over to him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said flippantly. “She’s not even giving you one-hundred percent.”

True, he wasn’t taking advantage of his accomplice’s full potential, but she did what he asked of her and that was enough. He still couldn’t stop his brow from scrunching as the intruder passed him and took the first step up. He nearly reached out to snatch her by an arm. “What do you mean?” he all but demanded.

The young woman paused to glance back. “She’s on drugs,” she answered simply, as though it were obvious.

And maybe it _ was _ obvious to anyone who knew the troubled superhuman. He’d like to think he knew her well enough. He’d smelled evidence on her before, and she’d made a friendly offer the other night and had the paraphernalia and everything. “I am aware she smokes—”

Priscilla Kimbley laughed, the single bark echoing up the stairwell, and she clamped her mouth shut as if only realizing now how well sound traveled in the lair’s stony corridors. “Nah, not that kind,” she said, toning it down to little more than a giggle. She set her hands on her hips, beaming down at Drakken, and he hated having to tilt his head to look up at the woman standing several steps above him now as she explained. “This shit puts her out cold. And I do mean _ cold. _ Total chill pills. Those megalomaniacs pulling the strings of that little superhero team of hers use it to keep her under control. I can get you some, if you wanna mess with it.” She gave a nonchalant shrug, as if offering to give him some miracle drug to control someone as dangerous and unpredictable as _ Shego _ was no big deal.

“I-I know about that too,” he bluffed. But did he really? He’d had a suspicion she’d been taking _ something, _but it could have been anything. Truthfully he hadn’t given it much thought, but he wracked his brains quickly now.

When she’d first arrived, she’d skulked through his lair half-asleep occasionally, sometimes grumbling about _ withdrawals _ late at night amidst her unique issues – issues which were just now proving to be not as benign as he’d thought, if her crispy mattress had anything to say about it. If such a drug did exist, why in the world would she be back on it? Was she relapsing? She couldn’t be. She’d been so excited to use her full power when he’d made her the enhancing gloves – why would she self-sabotage herself to turn down the heat? Where would she have even gotten such a drug?

Drakken’s mind didn’t finish reeling through the possibilities before he blurted, “She doesn’t take them anymore—”

The intruder scoffed and reached into a pocket, producing a little orange bottle. She rattled the contents. “And you believed her?” she jeered down at him.

Drakken made a reflexive grab for the bottle but the woman held it out of reach with a wicked snicker before surrendering it without further difficulty. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It had to be just a bottle of aspirin, but the label – bearing a bar code and dosage with the instructions _ Take with food before bed, _ prescribed to simply _ Shego _ – looked legitimate enough, even if it didn’t clarify what the drug was. He trusted his accomplice leagues more than this shifty intruder, and he trusted her not to weaken herself – not to mention, if she was taking it, then she would have to be in contact with the supplier, Global Justice, and there was no way—

“I’ll let you sleep on it,” said Priscilla, interrupting his doubtful train of thought. She smiled again as she backed away up the staircase. “Roofie her if you don’t believe me. Only way _ you’ll _ get to have a little fun with her.”

He had plenty of fun with Shego – Vegas and the stolen station wagon were still fairly fresh in his mind – but as the words sank in, he concluded that spray painting graffiti and pushing cars off cliffs wasn’t the kind of _ fun _ this woman was suggesting. He opened his mouth to object, to defend himself or Shego or them both, but the intruder had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Maybe Shego hadn’t been over-exaggerating when she’d said the woman was not a friend. Maybe she’d had every reason to attack her when she’d arrived on her doorstep.

Stupefied for a second too long, he was late in diving up the stairwell, reaching out to grasp at open air, hoping to catch the invisible lady in his lair, but his hand met only empty air. “I am _ not _ drugging my partner in crime,” he hissed out, knowing she must still be near enough to hear him, and strained to listen for the slightest breath or shuffle of retreating feet.

He heard nothing.

Still clutching the pill bottle in one hand, daring not stow it in a pocket lest the intruder merely steal it back – invisibility had to grant an innate talent for pick-pocketing – Drakken climbed the staircase a few steps more, his free hand outstretched and feeling uselessly for the invisible intruder. When he decided it was a lost cause, he let his hand fall and he snorted his frustration. An invisible woman who didn’t want to be caught would be a challenge to catch without a full sweep of the lair with infrared goggles, and he simply didn’t have enough for every henchman, nor did he have his own handy.

“I am not drugging Shego,” he repeated to himself, though as he returned to his office, pills in hand, he had to wonder how often she drugged _ herself. _ He tried to guess how many pills were in the bottle – the label specified 30 – and wanted to believe that most, if not all, were still accounted for. Where had Shego even gotten the pills? Had she brought them from Go City? She couldn’t possibly still be in contact with that rotten Global Justice – that would make her a spy, wouldn’t it? He trusted _ her _ not to be a spy. He knew it in his gut! Her brothers, on the other hand…

He shook his head but it didn’t clear up the plague of second thoughts he had now about his partner.

Drakken dropped himself down in his desk chair and pushed up his glasses to rub his weary eyes until stars burst behind his eyelids. Friday night, Shego had behaved especially strangely. He didn’t want to consider the possibility it wasn’t just the alcohol to blame – but he’d been sober enough at the time she’d stolen his cheese to make out her cursing to herself about needing to _ eat _ with something she damned with enough profanity to make a sailor blush. Looking at the bottle of pills now, the instructions _ take with food _served as a jigsaw piece he didn’t want. The puzzle was coming together and he didn’t like the picture it formed.

How had Priscilla Kimbley gotten hold of Shego’s medication anyway? Were they working together, conspiring against him? No, of course not. Shego clearly had a beef with the woman, and she reminded him at every opportunity.

He’d very much like to believe Miss Kimbley was pulling his leg, but evidence pointed to Shego’s use of the mysterious medication. He shook the bottle around again and counted carefully – recounting at least two more times for good measure. There were a few missing. So what? That was proof of nothing. That Kimbley woman could have easily stolen a few. And if Kimbley had stolen them from Shego, then she would be missing them.

As Drakken was battling to convince himself that his companion wasn’t taking some strange _ chill pill _ provided by Global Justice, soft footsteps descending the staircase made him jump.

It was only Shego, in her googly-eyed owl pajamas and soft green slippers – not the sight one would expect in a lair of all places, but regrettably a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Her hair was still damp, and her voice was a little on the hoarse side when she croaked, “Hey,” in greeting.

Drakken didn’t realize how fast he could move until he’d stuffed the bottle in his pocket and come to stand beside her. “Are you ready for that movie now?” he blurted, though he wasn’t eager to watch it himself, if he was being honest. Somehow it felt like an appropriate change of subject.

She sniffed, nose stuffy, and gave a weak smile. “I’unno,” she said with an effort at dry wit, “are you ready to be cute and cuddly?”

His legs felt weak and his heart thrummed meekly against his ribs. He wasn’t cuddle material nor did he strive to be cute, yet the prospect she might think so gave him an itch to try it out anyway. “I-I’m—let’s not get ahead of yourselves,” he stammered with a nervous smile.

She reached out for his arm, fingers curling delicately into his sleeve. She didn’t inadvertently burn him when she touched him this time, though by the look of concentration skewing her face, she was trying hard not to. “You wanted to show me something?”

In that moment, he tried to forget just how nice she smelled fresh out of the shower, and tried to think of how lovely the orchid did instead. And then he sharply reprimanded himself – because giving the orchid a whiff when his nerves were high would only heighten them, and he didn’t need any mood enhancers, for good or for bad, at a time like this. Neither did Shego, for that matter, but he turned back for his desk and the biosphere anyway.

“Now, it’s not for keeps,” he warned, gesturing to his desk and the flower on it. “But it looks nice, no? Y-you probably shouldn’t sniff it. It has strong effects on the brain. Amplifies – uhm – maybe when you’re in a better mood.” The blossom was largely unstudied, but by what he _ had _ gathered, the potent flower could act as ecstasy or it could plunge a person into depression, and cause any number of wild mood swings depending on the circumstances.

He went on to explain the exotic pink blossom to her, the lengths he’d gone to cultivate it, and its potential – but she looked bored the entire time his mouth was moving. Maybe that Priscilla woman was right, he considered, disheartened as he set the biosphere aside. Shego really didn’t seem all that impressed by flowers, even flowers as difficult to grow as genetically-modified orchids in climate-controlled biospheres. He made a mental note to find some she _ did _ like – and corrected himself that it was only to prove Shego’s indifference wasn’t withstanding among _ all _ flowers. No one hated flowers _ that _ much, except maybe the odd villain or two who utterly despised healthy ecosystems.

Shego pulled at his sleeve. “Okay,” she said, sounding bored to death. “You like gardening. Great. Can we go back upstairs and play pretend now?” She seemed more stable now, at least.

Drakken couldn’t help a sigh. “Do I have to pretend to be cute and cuddly?” The idea still had him uncertain. Especially the idea of _ cuddling _ – a possibility seeming realer by the moment, and with _ her _ no less – well, it made his insides do a nervous jig. There were more productive ways to spend his time, and yet he was compelled to bend to her will.

She flashed an impish smile. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Good.”

“Because you already are, _ flower boy.” _ She turned away then with a small laugh at his grunt of indignation.

Despite what should have been an offence to his villainous ego, he followed her back up the stairs. His smile on her back faded though, and he reached almost involuntarily for his pocket and the pills in it. Pills prescribed by Global Justice.

Keeping his eyes up, he studied the back of her head, eyes inadvertently drawn to something that stood out against the sheet of black. Maybe he just hadn’t walked close enough behind her to see them before. There wasn’t much to see there on the back of her head – except, of course, a grey hair or two he hadn’t noticed until now with her hair damp and sticking flat around her shoulders.

Following Shego back to his quarters, Drakken tried not to stare too hard. She seemed too young for grey hair, but he was mindful enough to keep the thought to himself. She wasn’t older than she said she was, was she? No, of course not. He’d first met her as an awkward teenager – well, technically she still was a teenager – but it was only four years ago or so that he’d first encountered her. She’d been in rough shape, but thinking back, she’d still been very much a kid then. He hadn’t been in the best shape himself either, and he’d been in even worse shape when he’d ditched her at that lonely rest stop in the middle of nowhere.

Something about that fateful day echoed at the far reaches of his mind, just out of his grasp. Something about _ Subject B. _

Drakken mulled it over as he made a fresh batch of popcorn while Shego sheepishly swept up the mess she’d made earlier.

It wasn’t until she was sitting on his couch, awaiting his return with the bowl, did it finally resound clearly in his head and out of his mouth. _ “Subject B is liable to break down in a matter of years,” _ he muttered incredulously to himself, staring down at the grey strands standing boldly against her unnaturally iridescent raven locks.

The thought of cellular damage crossed his mind. If her body hadn’t adapted to her alien power, the plasmic fire would have destroyed her years ago as surely as it would have anyone else’s who came in contact. Thankfully the first round of researchers had clearly been wrong about her – try as she might, _ Subject B _ hadn’t destroyed herself during the metamorphosis – but that didn’t mean they were entirely wrong, either. Without a so-called chill pill to suppress the flame, was she still at risk of hurting herself? Had Global Justice been doing her a favor by regulating her alien glow in some way?

Shego glanced back at him innocently, tearing her eyes off her movie. “What was that?” he barely heard her ask.

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, sitting down awkwardly on the far end of the couch, the bowl of popcorn set on the one cushion between them.

He tried to face the movie and eat popcorn one puff at a time from the palm of his hand while his companion snacked by the handful. He didn’t make it long before his eyes slid across to her, the thoughts still wreaking havoc in his head.

She caught him staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” he blurted, gaze snapping away briefly. “Um. Actually.” He was sitting on the pill bottle in his back pocket. He shifted, but it didn’t make his rear feel any better. Unabashedly studying the woman in her pajamas now, the question “Are you on any special medication?” escaped his trap.

Shego quirked her brow at him, suspicion fleeting on her face, but she laughed awkwardly. She took a guess, “Like…what? Birth control?”

He had to dismiss that one the best he could, awkwardly scratching at his neck. “Ah, no. That probably couldn’t hurt, but no, I mean – what I’m asking is – I’m just wondering if you’re taking anything. That’s all.” He swallowed and waited.

She dropped the wry playful act, her glare hardening on him. _ “No,” _ she denied, though he could hear the lie laced in her tone alone. “What makes you think that?” She needed to work on her deception skills.

“Nothing. Nothing, just…” Drakken blurted, realizing he was just as bad. His own pulse thundered in his ears. If Shego had put Priscilla up to giving him the pills, she’d be expecting him to come clean, wouldn’t she? And if she hadn’t, she’d have to expect him to return the stolen item. And if they _ were _ stolen, and if she was on medication, then maybe she needed them. “Well, actually, you said something the other night. And I just thought, if they help…maybe you’d want these back. I believe these are yours.” Swallowing doubt and anxiety and anything else, Drakken fished out the bottle from his back pocket and held his hand outstretched, bottle in his palm for her to take.

Shego’s eyes locked on the bottle. She reached for it but withdrew her hand just as quickly, wringing her fingers. “No, thanks. I don’t need that shit,” she spat – only to change her mind in the next instant. Before he could argue it or retract the offer to return the medication, she snatched up the bottle and jumped to her feet.

“It might be for your own good, Shego,” he called, leaping up to follow her to the kitchen. Her hands were emitting green cinders as she fought with the child-proof lid. He smelled melting plastic. She was heaving for breath. She was angry. What was she so angry about? It was a damn good thing he hadn’t let her sniff the flower.

_ “Fuck off!” _ she shouted vehemently, chucking the bottle with full force in the general vicinity of his sink. The half-melted bottle shattered, little white pills scattering. Before the pills had even stopped bouncing, she scrambled forward to collect him, cursing to herself. “Whose side are you on anyway?” she snapped back at him, voice cracking, as he approached the kitchen island.

_ “Yours!” _ Drakken blurted in reflex. “I mean – I thought – I thought you were on mine, is what I mean. And if they help you, maybe you should—”

“No,” she spat. She was trembling, throwing every pill she found into the sink under the running tap. She slammed cabinet doors to find the switch for the garbage disposal. “No, no, no,” she repeated to herself, to every pill she disposed of. He heard her counting them under her breath.

Once the distraught superhuman was sure that every tiny pill had been thoroughly destroyed and washed down the drain, she hovered over his sink, shaking her head as she ran her glowing hands beneath the steaming stream of water while the garbage disposal snarled tirelessly.

Drakken was quiet for a long moment, standing cautiously on the other side of the kitchen island though he knew he wasn’t out of the danger zone. Once her tremors had subsided somewhat and the steam had stopped billowing, he crept forward, daring to stand beside her and shut off the faucet. When he reached for her shoulder, he was just about zapped by the energy radiating unseen from her body.

Despite the shimmer of unchecked green glow glistening over her skin, Shego turned sharply toward him, her face thudding into his chest and arms constricting around him, squeezing the breath out of him in a bear hug comparable to his mother’s. The only difference was Shego was not his mother, and her body burned like a furnace against him, namely her hands digging into his back. He winced. The plasma burns eating holes in his shirt would need lotion later.

Bearing it, Drakken squeezed his eyes shut, choosing not to look so closely at her grey hairs, evidence she might very well be breaking down in some way. She was certainly breaking down on an emotional level, anyway. _ Cute and cuddly, _ he reminded himself as he gingerly held her by the shoulders, desperately hoping to channel whatever _ cute and cuddly _ part of him she’d been hoping for tonight even if it wasn’t _ his _normal.

He knew the third degree was coming when his companion went rigid and roughly shoved him back, an accusatory glare written across her face. Drakken didn’t wait for her to demand answers before opening his big mouth to spill the beans.


	41. Whose Side – 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FFn had a bug last week and I like to crosspost on the same weekend, so sorry for the delay and short chapter.  
Might be the last one for a bit while I take a while to catch up on some stuff.

Distraught as she was, Drakken’s accomplice didn’t seem surprised to learn of her ex-friend’s treachery. By a few choice words she muttered, he gathered it wasn’t even the first time the bubbly blonde had given away Shego’s medication for her own gain. He didn’t dare question the effects or purpose of the drug for fear of inciting her ire once more – he’d already learned more than she’d wanted him to know anyway, and pushing her tonight could prove to be a mistake.

Needless to say, staying to watch the movie to feign some semblance of normalcy wasn’t a priority anymore. Shego held herself, denying his offer of a warm mug of soothing cocoa moo, and requested instead she be taken home.

Drakken didn’t object her decision to leave.

The van, however, _did._

After several long minutes of troubleshooting the busted old van that refused to sputter to life, Shego climbed out and grabbed Drakken by his now-stained shirt and tugged him back to his quarters in the depths of the lair.

Though her glare was still heated, she’d cooled off enough he wasn’t so fearful she’d hurl a ball of plasma at his head for looking at her wrong.

Fries and dinosaur chicken nuggets sufficed for supper as they finally watched the movie in brittle silence. And despite Priscilla Kimbley otherwise wrecking the evening, Shego still obstinately managed to inch closer to Drakken’s side of the couch, until she was leaned against him, though Drakken convinced himself it was merely for easy access to his crimp-cut fries as she’d already polished off her own plate.

_Cute and cuddly_ came back to mind and after some time he risked extending an arm around her shoulders, ignoring how tense he himself was and how much warmer she felt beside him the second he did. Shego said nothing and took another fry from the plate in his lap. Whatever wild and witty antics the detective on screen was up to was bound to be lost on Drakken as long as his partner in crime was snuggled up next to him.

It didn’t last long, which was both a relief and a disappointment. Within minutes of finishing off his fries, she pealed herself away, snatching up a pack of smokes from the coffee table and moving to the far end of the couch before lighting up. Drakken tried not to watch her puff each time she brought the cigarette to her lips, half expecting and half hoping she’d offer it out to him.

Before he could ask for a drag to sate his own reawakened craving, Shego blew out a long plume of smoke and croaked out, “I’m gonna kill her.” She held the cigarette out his way, but Drakken was hesitant now to take the meager peace offering.

He had to assume she meant her old friend. He nodded as he filled his lungs and then licked his lips, wishing he could taste her on the filter. He swallowed back whatever tried to rise from the pit of his stomach then and hummed. “I offered to help you the other day,” he said. “That offer still stands.” Although offing anyone together lacked a certain appeal at the moment.

Shego let out a small sad chuckle. “Yeah. Thanks,” she muttered. “Glad to know you’ve got my back, dude.”

“Any time, sister.”

Shego froze for a beat as she took the cigarette back – and it was all the warning he had that he’d said something wrong. In one swift motion, she snuffed out the smoke in the ash tray and crossed the space between them, wearing a glare that read she had a point to make.

Drakken’s view of the television was blocked out suddenly as her weight landed on his knees, and his eyes flew wide at the warm hands meeting his skin from the neck up. That was as far as she made it before her momentum petered out, her fizzling palm cupping his cheek gently as she sat frozen before him. The television fell entirely on deaf ears now, as all he could hear was the thud of his heartbeat – hell, he barely even heard her call his name, equal parts hesitant and harsh.

He tore his eyes from her almost panicked face and her teeth sinking into her lip, though letting his gaze wander down the rest of her wasn’t much better.

One hand gingerly rested on her thigh, carefully as though testing a pan he wasn’t sure wasn’t hot, and he felt the reaction of her hand warming on his cheek as her other squeezed his shoulder. Drakken understood then just how literally he was playing with fire as his roaming touch came to a pause as her waist. _“Uhm,”_ was the most competent thing he could utter, too slack-jawed and stupefied to brave looking her in the eye.

He was practically forced to regardless as Shego stooped forward.

Time began moving again in a hurry and Drakken snapped out of his daze the instant he felt her breath on his lips. Before she could close the distance, let alone object to the rebuff, he’d swept her up and deposited her on the couch in his spot instead, dropping his surprised accomplice like a sack of rocks.

“You should get some rest,” he decided, tousling her already-tangled hair if only to push her down for a split second longer as he made his hasty escape.

_“Drakken!”_ she snapped over the spine of the couch after him.

“I’ll ask to borrow the Beetle in the morning,” he announced, his own voice a little too shrill for his liking, as he retired hastily to his bedroom and locked his door behind him.

If she was determined enough to force her way in after him, she wouldn’t let a mere lock stop her. He was well aware that Shego knew how to pick locks. Hell, one of his first encounters with her – since she’d assumed the alias _Shego_ anyway – had been when she’d picked the lock to his motel room back in Go City. It really hadn’t been that long ago. He barely knew her. Certainly not well enough to allow her into his lap to – to do whatever it was she’d planned to do with him. Not tonight – not ever – and he squeezed his eyes shut tight to swear by it. Besides, she was too invaluable to risk treading into that territory.

A shower was in order. A cold one, preferably.

Drakken was, admittedly, relieved Shego did not sneak her way into his bedroom. He must have laid awake half the night waiting for something – or rather, someone – uninvited to reach out and touch him, but no hands haunted him tonight, ghostly or otherwise. Still worried for his accomplice with the invisible trespasser at large, he did sneak out into the living room once or twice to take a peek. The first time, Shego was just barely awake watching a late-night rerun of _Scamper and Bitey._ The second time, he had to guess she was asleep as paid programming was droning on when he flicked the television off, though he tried his best not to look too closely at her to be certain.

He awoke before her of course, as per usual. Soon enough, the aroma of coffee pulled her from her beauty sleep and she slumped into kitchen and plopped herself down in a bar stool. He slid her a mug of coffee – creamed and sweetened to perfection – and Shego flashed a sleepy crooked smile at him.

“Buck’s hiring, you know,” she jibbed, eyeing her coffee, and Drakken arched his brow at her. She sighed and reiterated, “You’d make a good barista.”

Drakken said nothing. He merely scoffed and rolled his eyes as he returned to frying up a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs.

He heard her slurp from the mug before slamming it down with a loud clack that made him jump. For a fleeting moment he feared he’d gotten their cups mixed up, but a glance back at the sheepish look Shego wore, and he was sure it wasn’t the case. “Sorry,” she muttered meekly. “About last night. I-I don’t know what I was thinking. Uhm…” She took a long sip from the mug then, looking anywhere but at him.

He could have made a wisecrack and asked what part of _last night_ she was sorry for, but he kept his mouth shut. He grunted instead. After a moment of poking at the scrambled eggs with the spatula, he gave a short answer, “It’s alright. Happens to the best of us,” and cringed inwardly. If their roles had been reversed – Drakken squeezed his eyes tight at the possible repercussion of that.

Shego was quiet for a moment before he heard her breathy snort that sufficed for laughter. “Yeah. Whatever.” Another pause. He dished out two plates and set one before her, taking the spot across from her. “I already have some things here, so you don’t have to drive me home first,” she declared.

Remembering it was Tuesday and she was due to spend the better half of her day at Buckley’s Brew, Drakken’s shoulders fell a little. “Good. Saves me the trouble,” he said, finding the silver lining.

Her gaze strayed down from the clock. “We have a little time to hang.” It sounded like an offer.

Drakken tore his stare away from the strained smirk on her lips and stabbed at his eggs instead. “Not enough time for a game of foosball, I’m afraid,” he said, staving back the disappointment.

Shego’s eyes narrowed before she snatched up the shaker from in front of him to dump an obscene amount of pepper onto her breakfast. “You don’t need me for anything today, do you?”

“No—”

“Good. I’m not coming over tonight.”


	42. Whose Side – 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round n round I go, when I'll update next, nobody knows~  
I'm adopting certain canon characters and running away with them, don't mind me.

Though Drakken hadn’t protested, Shego could see he wasn’t jazzed by her announcement. She didn’t owe him an explanation though, so she did nothing to make up for the brief moment of disappointment that had flashed across his face.

After breakfast, she was instructed to meet him in the garage. She combed out her hair as she waited and double-checked the buttons of her blouse a couple of times, slouched in one of the seats that had been stripped from the Go Jet.

She recognized his footsteps but still turned to be sure it was truly Drakken who finally entered the garage. She held herself, suspicious of the very air in front of her. With Priscilla in town, knowing what she did now, it was hard not to be jumpy. Shego took comfort in knowing she wasn’t a ghost haunting the lair after all though. Unlike a ghost, she could at least punch the girl.

That knowledge hadn’t made falling asleep last night any easier. The evening had been a disaster, one right after another, but Shilo resigned herself to accepting that she couldn’t blame it all on the disowned friend. She’d certainly misread Drakken when she’d made a foolhardy move on the man when the movie failed to take her mind off things, and the fact she hadn’t disposed of the medication before anyone could get their filthy hands on it again was another mistake she was responsible for.

She rubbed her eyes with a fist and stifled a yawn, still fatigued having been up the better half of the night. She knew it was bound to be a long day when she spotted a jeep parked on Main Street, not far from Buckley’s Brew.

Head lolling back, she called over with a sweet lilt,  _ “Drakken?” _

His brow quirked curiously and he grunted, flicking a quick glance her way.

“I changed my mind. I wouldn’t mind hanging out at the lair today.”

The somber blue man’s stony face shifted with a grimace. “Give it up. I’m not surrendering another family secret so you can get a day off.”

“Please?”

_ “Shego,” _ he growled, parking at the curb.

Shilo glanced into the café, through the golden-lit windows. The shop was still closed, yet Priscilla was  _ inside,  _ although Abigail didn’t seem especially pleased with her presence.

“Fine,” she sighed, grabbing her go-bag from the bench between them. She hesitated, hugging the bag to her chest. “If I need a getaway driver back to the lair, I can count on you, right?”

He grumbled something unhappy about the van, but the second she popped the door, he blurted out, “Yes! Yes, of course.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said with a pleased smirk as she climbed out and shouldered her bag.

“You’ll be alright?” called Drakken before she could shut the door. “With… _ her?”  _ His distrust as he glanced behind Shilo was almost on par with her own.

She heard the jingle of the doorbell then and grit her teeth. Her fist tightened on the strap of her go-bag, but she gave the apprehensive man a playful salute as she turned about on her heel. “Catch ya later, Doc,” she declared.

She didn’t care so much that she practically turned right into Priscilla, and didn’t bat an eye as she gave the girl a rough shove out of her way. Without sparing a goodbye, Drakken burned rubber in his haste to avoid the troublesome blonde. Priscilla gave Shilo a wry smirk from outside the storefront, and she hoped it would be the last she saw of the girl.

“I don’t like her,” were the words Gail used to greet Shilo that morning, slipping behind her uninvited to retie Shilo’s apron extra tight as the day began. “She’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah, neither do I – wait, what?”

“She starts as soon as there’s an opening.” The stout young woman thumped Shilo on the back as if consoling her. “But don’t worry. You’re not getting sacked. Yet.”

“Buck says I could be getting a promotion,” came another voice from the window to the kitchen. Chester leaned through it, arms folded. The slender woman with the shaven head and a few extra piercings smiled warmly over to Gail. “Better catch up, sugar.”

“Oh, I’m way above you and you know it,” chastised Gail, wagging an empty mug at the other girl. “That oven’s fried your brain. You’re too busy kneading dough to rack up points.”

Promotions?  _ Points?  _ A question died on the tip of her tongue when Shilo caught a glimpse of a regular strolling past the storefront. “Look alive,” she snapped over, backhanding Gail in the hip before the girls could continue arguing.

Chester vanished back into the kitchen then, Gail returned to her post, and Shilo stood behind the counter ready to figuratively tackle the first customer of the day.

Over her weeks at the café, she’d learned  _ Jackass Joe’s _ work ethic was practice for henchhood, positioning would-be henchwomen in the least compatible positions. While Chester and Gail had their own personal challenges to power through, Shilo was doomed to wear a fake smile for hours on end that cramped her cheeks, forcing pleasantries for each customer to keep them coming back.

The one who had it easiest of all was Buckley’s own daughter, who, according to Gail, was bound to be out a job soon if Priscilla joined their ranks. Unsurprisingly, the teenager had been suspended from school. Buckley wasn’t especially happy about it – she had wanted better for her child – but clearly, the girl was happier on the drudgery of dish duty than having a half-blind gym teacher checking her out.

At nine o’clock on the dot, a heavyset woman Shilo had never seen before came stalking in off the street, her footsteps as heavy as her mug was surly. She wore a suit straight out of the ‘60s, complete with a plaid pencil skirt, which all looked rather itchy. Maybe that was why she scowled so fiercely at Shilo when she gave the rehearsed greeting, “Welcome to Buckley’s Brew—”

“Cut the horsecrap,” growled the woman, whipping out a card from her breast pocket to flash Jackass Joe’s donkey logo. “Where’s Joanne?”

Shilo’s jaw fell open and a bewildered,  _ “Uh,” _ fell out. She cast a quick glance across to Gail for guidance, but the girl was frozen in place, facing the nearest coffee maker and back to the woman she’d been indifferent to until now.

“Well?” snapped the impatient woman, smacking the service bell on the counter to demand attention. Shilo noticed her pull a clipboard out from under her beefy arm then, grunting disdainfully as she scribbled on it. “Each second you make me wait is a point off.” It sounded like a warning.

Though still white as a sheet, Gail bolted without ever turning to face the woman. She was no help to Shilo.

“I – uh – who are you?” she uttered, perplexed as the bitter lady crossed her arms to wait.

“Who am  _ I?” _ She arched a thick eyebrow at Shilo before shaking her head and scribbling again on her clipboard. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and get me one of those…” She waved her pen around to point at the fritters.

“That’ll be—,” Shilo began but bit her tongue at the withering scowl the cross woman fixed on her again. Something told her the woman wouldn’t be paying. Left alone and unsure what to do about her, Shilo merely complied, handing over the snack and muttering, “On the house.”

The woman, who had still yet to introduce herself, grunted in lieu of  _ thanks _ and went to the table in the far corner, nearest the hall leading to the back. Shilo had come to recognize those who sat at that particular table, set apart from the rest, usually meant business. Given the guest was scrawling words across another sheet of paper that looked like a form, Shilo got the hunch that this woman meant serious business.

Aside from the scratching of pen on paper, the café had gone deathly quiet. The tick of a clock plucked at her nerves.

Before long, Shilo found herself blurting out, “How do you know Buckley?”

Looking something like a gargoyle and just as pretty, the woman went still for a moment. Shilo swore she heard her neck creak as she turned her everlasting sneer back up at her. “Are you girls always this chatty?”

Shilo almost answered, but instead pressed her lips into a flat line, zipped shut.

Evidently not talking was not the response the woman sought. She stood, squaring her shoulders, and her glare bore down on Shilo with a severity and authority she wasn’t used to. She nearly caved under it. “If you want to make it in this field,  _ you will answer to your superiors, _ woman,” ground out Buckley’s visitor.

“Look, lady,” Shilo snapped back, stamping down her rising nerves. “You aren’t the boss of me. I don’t even know who you  _ are.” _

“Of course you wouldn’t,” scoffed the woman, gesturing curtly to the storefront. “Joanne gave you a call, but you were too busy out gallivanting around with some boy, so I’m told.”

Her cheeks warmed a little and she gripped the counter. She didn’t dignify it with a response though.

A moment later, Buckley’s old pickup truck pulled up out front. At the hasty parking, Shilo would have expected the woman to be in a foul mood, as had been the case when Dr. Drakken had first brought Shilo to the café, but she was only dumbstruck now as the giant woman came barging in with a broad smile and open arms.

_ “Hatchet!” _ she boomed, her warmth filling the room.

“I’m not a hugger,” the visitor quickly shot down in a reminding tone, one hand up to halt the larger woman – though not by much – and Buckley dropped her arms. “Joanne, I thought you were more organized than this—”

“I know, I know,” sighed Buckley, waving dismissively as she swooped around the grumpy woman. “I wasn’t expecting you until noon, that’s all.”

“The early bird gets the worm,” said Hatchet. “But it looks like all you have for me today are maggots.”

Buckley’s warm home-baked smile fell. Shilo had never seen such a worried look flash in her eyes before. It was hard to imagine anything could scare Buckley, as big and gutsy as she was, but maybe Shilo was wrong about her. The former henchwoman cleared her throat lightly and gave an ear-piercing whistle that gave Shilo a start.

After a moment, she heard the whisper of Buckley’s girls in the back, hissing amongst each other as one shoved another, and finally the girls came strolling out, backs straight and faces blank. Shilo realized then that all three had been hiding from the guest – leaving Shilo to face her alone. She should have expected as much from them, leaving a  _ comrade _ to fend for herself. Henchfolk weren’t known for their high moral standards, after all – even if teamwork  _ was _ a desired trait.

With a grunt, Hatchet strolled over to the lineup of women, circling them once like a vulture. She patted Abigail’s chubby cheek, commenting, “You’ve been working in this café a little too long. We can take care of that. And you.” She turned a glare on the spindly sharpshooter, Chester. “Do yourself a favor and smack it from her hand and take it for yourself if you catch her snacking.” Buckley took a step forward when the guest roughly grabbed her daughter, Hatchet pulling Jenny’s hands in front of her. “Too soft,” she scoffed before shoving the tender hands away.

Shilo watched as the girl mouthed a small desperate plea to her mother as if begging the woman to defend her, but Buckley remained silent.

“Someone is missing here,” said Hatchet, tapping her chin as she studied the girls. “One, two, three…”

With a jump of her heart, Shilo realized she ought to get in line.

The perplexing bitter visitor glared sternly at her before shoving her chin up roughly to stare deep into her eyes. Resisting the impulse to smack her out of her personal space and spit something obscene in the face of the woman in presumed authority over the henchgirls, Shilo measured her breath and held still. She didn’t so much as blink until Hatchet backed away from her face, only to snatch her by the wrist instead with a grip strong enough to leave a bruise.

Her beady eyes narrowed behind her gaudy glasses as her grip tightened.

Shilo had never imagined her hand could feel  _ choked, _ but that might have had something to do with her fingers turning color from the cut circulation. The woman didn’t have to verbally command it of her – her eyes conveyed it clear enough.

Sparks crackled from her palm before licks of plasmic flame crawled up her fingers.

“That’s what I thought,” growled Hatchet, holding Shilo’s arm out like a torch.

A yelp caught in her throat as she was yanked away and into the back. She threw a baffled glance over her shoulder at the wide-eyed women staring after her, Jenny mouthing,  _ “Good luck!” _

Before she could demand answers, she was all but thrown into one of the two seats in front of Buckley’s desk. “Watch it!” she snapped instead, smoothing her hair and scowling as the pushy Hatchet woman plopped down in the other chair.

“No,  _ you _ watch it,” ground out the woman, wagging her pen at her. She licked a thumb and flipped a page on her clipboard. “You have no idea why I’m here, do you?”

And so began Twenty Questions. It felt like more than that.

She asked basic age and health questions almost like a doctor would before moving on to harder questions, like when she quit heroism, how long was she a hero, her opinion on heroes – and while some were easier than others, the fact she had associated with heroes at all in a former life clearly displeased Miss Hatchet.

She moved on to more villainous questions, requesting notable achievements as a miscreant. There was the 24-Seven robbery Buckley’s girls could attest to, but when Shilo mentioned the first task Drakken had given her, it began a slew of other questions regarding the local villain. How long had she been working with him, how  _ professional _ was their relationship, and other questions that left Shilo flustered and on edge. Special skills and what she thought she had to offer as a henchwoman were squeezed into the interrogation.

Miss Hatchet warned her that she was on thin ice and had a snowball’s chance in hell, but promised with a grin to put Shilo through the wringer regardless if by some miracle she was granted admission. It was only because Buckley vouched for her that the headhunter bothered interviewing her at all, determining whether she was cut out for henchwork.

When the quizzing was all said and done, Miss Hatchet stood and handed Shilo a pamphlet for Lowerton Hench University. “If you’re serious about henchwork, prove it. Get some experience under your belt,” she advised. “I’ll be checking in.”

Glaring at the recruiter’s back, Shilo felt a little arrogant for scoffing to herself. She almost burned the pamphlet but crumpled it in her fist instead. She  _ wasn’t _ cut out for henchwork. She was better than that. Who did this woman think she was?

With the door held open and the professional henchwoman gesturing her out, Shilo took her leave, steeling herself to keep from jolting when the bitter woman barked out,  _ “NEXT!” _

She did, however, jump to the other side of the narrow hall when the air before her rippled with a faint shimmer and Priscilla Kimbley shoved her aside as she made for the office, the odor of cheap cherry body spray making Shilo’s nose crinkle. “Present!” sang Prissy. The sugar-coated warble couldn’t have belonged to a future henchwoman, and yet Miss Hatchet checked her clipboard and grunted with a nod to the office.

“And I thought you’d be a no-show,” said Miss Hatchet with a note of humor. Shilo thought she even heard her guffaw as she slammed the door shut.


End file.
